Just a Soldier and a Lady
by CrystalFNfire
Summary: Lothíriel is done with letting all the men in her life discuss her impending wedding. She is also done waiting for her Prince Charming to finally fall in her lap. So when a tall, handsome man appears out of nowhere, she never expected to like him. Even worse, she never expected him to be the king of Rohan.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

She did not know why the men were still discussing the matter. She had told her father that she would not marry Lord Belegorn, and even King Elessar had agreed that it was not a good match given their personality differences. Her Gondorian noble suitor had set his eye out for her, and as soon as he received the assent from her father, had pursued her relentlessly.

Lothíriel was nothing if not flattered; Lord Belegorn was one of the handsomest men at court, and had no lack of ladies to fawn over him. But his arrogant manner, his lack of regard for anyone else's opinions, and his belief that a wife had no other business than agreeing with her husband and bearing him children had made her reject him upon their first encounter.

Her father, Prince Imrahil, however, had seen him as an ideal suitor: high enough in aristocracy so as to be able to marry a princess, but not rich enough to demand too much of a dowry. But Lothiríel knew that if she stood her ground, her father would cave: he loved her too much to betroth her to a man against her wishes.

As it was, however, he was putting up a very good fight.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak again, a small cough interrupted her from the door of King Elessar's study. Lothíriel's family had remained in Minas Tirith for a while after the coronation to coordinate future plans with their new king, and in the meantime, Imrahil and Elessar had become such good friends that Elessar felt impelled to personally oversee his friend's daughter's marriage offers.

The small company, which consisted of the king, her father, Elphir, and herself, turned toward the source of the cough. Éowyn was standing there, looking bemused but innocent at the same time.

"I am sorry to interrupt, my lords," she said, inclining her head slightly. Despite growing up under an uncle who could barely look after her, Éowyn had the most impeccable courtly manner. "The queen has sent for the Lady Lothíriel. She has found a tear in the dress she is going to wear tomorrow to meet Éo—the King of Rohan." Lothíriel had a sudden feeling that her friend had purposely changed her address of her brother so as to make him seem more important. Was it just her or had Éowyn let loose a smile?

Her father made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "Can you not do with the maids?"

Éowyn's face was again sober. "Well, I suppose we could, my Lord Imrahil," she said hesitantly. "It is just that it is an awfully large tear, and Queen Arwen specifically asked for the Lady Lothíriel because she stitches so quickly and neatly."

Lothíriel almost snorted at this, imagining Éowyn trying her hand at stitching the dress. The woman could barely thread a needle, and her stitches usually looked like those of a five-year-old child's.

Her friend persisted. "I am sure if it is just us, we would be up half the night, and—"

"Yes, yes," the king of Gondor interrupted, waving a hand to silence her. Lothíriel thought for a second that he, too, wore a small smile as he turned to her father. "It is already night, my friend, and it does not look like this discussion is leading anywhere. Why not let us sleep on the matter?"

Her father grunted, obviously annoyed, but unable to overrule King Elessar's command. Lothíriel hid a small smile, but a glare from Imrahil made it disappear again.

"Until tomorrow, then," she said, adding gravity to her voice. "I beg your leaves, King Elessar, father." With a nod from the king, she sprang away, glad to join Éowyn and leave the men behind.

Quickly, the other woman led her to the queen's chambers, where Arwen was sitting before her boudoir, brushing her long, black hair with a silver brush. On one of the chairs lay a beautiful blue gown that had a large tear on one of the sleeves.

Upon closer inspection, Lothíriel could tell that the tear was too neat, ripped singly, as if a pair of scissors had snipped through. Smiling knowingly, she gave the queen a curtsy.

"Good evening, my lady," she said, a bit too formally. Arwen smiled at her and glanced at the ladies-in-waiting around them. With a wave of her hand, they were gone. Lothíriel relaxed a little when it was only the three of them in the room.

"Thank Eru," she breathed, flopping down into one of the chairs. "I thought my father was going to go on all night." Wearily, she picked up Arwen's gown. "It was a good excuse, but it is a pity we had to ruin one of your gowns, Arwen."

The queen laughed and put down her brush before taking a seat on her bed. "No matter. Besides, we had to look busy, and you always work wonders on gowns. I am sure no one will be able to tell tomorrow."

She handed Lothíriel the needle and thread. "Hop to it!"

The other woman made a face but realized that she rather sew than listen to her father talk about Lord Belegorn.

"So who was it this time?" Éowyn asked, joining the queen on the bed. "Another noble lord? Handsome and rich enough for a Princess of Dol Amroth?"

Lothíriel looked up from her work. "Please do not start! It was Lord Belegorn. If ever there was a man more arrogant and chauvinistic, I have not met him."

Éowyn and Arwen gave her sympathetic looks. "I understand it is frustrating now, Lothi," Arwen said. "But love will come."

The woman made a disbelieving sound through her nose. "You mean true love?" she said the word with as much disdain as she could muster.

Éowyn's eyebrows shot up. "There are good men in this world. You just need to wait patiently."

Lothíriel was not convinced. "It seems as if I am always waiting. And for what?" she threw up her hands. "Why must I be the one to wait? I have done quite enough of it, thank you. Perhaps it is now my Prince Charming's turn?"

Arwen sighed. "We are not saying to wait for him to drop into your lap," she retorted, rolling her eyes. It was not often that Arwen spoke so plainly. "But you cannot expect to have him at your fingertips right when you want him."

The other woman bit her lip. "But what am I waiting for?" she asked. "I have been kissed already." When the other two exchanged glances, she could not help but continue. "Yes, I have! And it was nothing special. I did not want to. He forced himself onto me, and that is what will continue to happen when I am married."

Arwen gasped at this and leaned forward on the bed. Touching her hand to Lothíriel's arm, she said, "He forced you? Did you tell your father or brothers?"

"Yes," the woman said. "I did, and I never saw him again."

The other two gave a single sigh of relief. Then, after a pause. "It is not all like that," Éowyn said. "When you find someone you love, he will be gentle."

But Lothíriel remained unconvinced, and she sewed the sleeve vehemently. For a moment, Arwen realized just how young her companion was. While Éowyn was only twenty-six herself, she had seen war, and it had aged her mentally. Arwen had seen thousands of years go by, and it was at times like these, that she remembered what it was like to be young and naïve, to only be twenty, and not have seen much of the world.

That was not to say that Lothíriel was stupid or unaffected by the war. However, while Éowyn had been directly connected to it, Lothíriel, like many women of her status, had stayed away, safely tucked in her beautiful home of Dol Amroth.

"What occurs between a man and a woman," Arwen said, choosing her words carefully, "is very different when you are with someone you love, Lothi. It is enjoyable."

"Yes," Éowyn agreed. "If he truly loves you, he will see to it that you are also pleasured."

Lothíriel made a face. "If you say so," the woman mumbled and continued to sew.

Éowyn and Arwen could only exchange a knowing glance before steering the conversation somewhere else.

"Your brother is arriving tomorrow?" Arwen asked Éowyn.

The other woman nodded. "Yes. He will bring news of the state of Rohan with him. It will be good to hear of our economy from his own mouth."

The queen rubbed her chin. "Let us know what you need. Trade between Rohan and Gondor need to be strengthened in order for both countries to prosper."

Éowyn nodded again. "As always, we have an abundance of horses and hay, but not much else. This winter will be hard, I am afraid."

Lothíriel jumped into the conversation. This was finally something she was interested in. Talking about men all night seemed to have dulled her intelligence, but this shook her out of that ennui. "Dol Amroth has been stocking up on grain since before the war, and our soldiers always need horses."

She had been in charge of governing Dol Amroth while her father and brothers were away at war, and she had found that she had a knack for balancing books. Some of the counselors were even shocked at how she was able to predict the increase and decrease of prices on certain items in the market.

Arwen shook her head. "A good thought, but it has always been difficult to establish a route between Dol Amroth and Rohan. We have yet to build enough ships to go by the sea, and the roads around the mountains to the river take too long. The grain may not get to them in time."

The other woman sewed as she thought. "We must find another path," she said, finally. "But either way, the old routes have to be opened some time, and now is a good time as any." She picked up the dress and looked at it in the light. The tear was nearly invisible. "All done here," she said, handing back the dress to Arwen.

She turned to Éowyn. "As for the grain and horses, I will think on it some more. Perhaps I can find a small route that goes through the mountains instead of around them."

"Let my brother know," the other woman smiled. "I only have a general understanding of the conditions in Rohan. I have enough to do in Ithilien, thank you very much!"

The conversation continued late into the night, as the women discussed the state of their lands, and Lothíriel thanked Eru once again that her impending marriage was not mentioned once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Lothíriel sped down the hall, clutching both shoes. At the corner, she stopped and leaned against the wall so she could put on her right slipper. The day was already off to a bad start.

She had stayed up too late talking to Éowyn and Arwen, and she had overslept this morning, completely forgetting that Éowyn's brother, the king of Rohan, would be arriving this morning. As a princess, she was expected to be at the throne room to formally greet him, and she had only remembered when her maid commented on her state of undress so late in the morning.

Now, careening down a hall with her slippers barely on her feet, she suddenly remembered a shortcut. If she cut through the antiques room and made a left into a small corridor, she could potentially cut her travel time in half. Not many people knew about the small corridor, so the traffic through the area should also not be high.

Now if she could only make a right here –

"Oof!" Lothíriel nearly fell backwards after colliding with what felt like a brick wall. The wind was completely gone from her lungs, and she stood by, gasping for air.

"Are you alright, my lady?" a man's voice sounded. "I am terribly sorry. I was only admiring the tapestry there and did not see you." Lothíriel gulped in enough air to finally look up and register the world around her.

Of course, she had bumped into someone, and it was clear that it had been a soldier, fully clad in his armor. She studied the man and realized first that he was wearing the insignia of Eorl the Young on his chest and that he had blonde hair.

A Rohirrim soldier, of course, she realized. Here with the king. Her next thought turned to his size. He was perfectly enormous, standing so much taller than her that she was eye-level with his chest. His shoulders seemed almost to be twice the width of hers; she could feel annoyance begin to build within her.

She was going to be late, and now, she had a headache from colliding headfirst into this oaf.

"Yes, yes," she said quickly. "I apologize, but I am quite late. If you will excuse me."

She tried to push past the man, but he seemed to be impudent as well as large. "If I may, are you the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth?"

She gave him a look—actually, more of a glare—that attempted to imply her annoyance and urgency, but he did not seem to take the hint. Drawing in a deep breath, she bobbed her head at the man. "Yes, I am she. Welcome to Minas Tirith."

With this, there really was no getting out of introductions, Lothíriel thought, exasperated. But instead of bowing and telling her his name, the soldier only inclined his head a bit as well. "Then the tales of your beauty do you no justice for you are truly one of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

As she stood in shock, he indecently kissed her hand, and stared unabashedly into her eyes. His blue orbs seemed to pierce her, and for a moment, she blushed, feeling naked before him.

He smelled of horses and earth, rich, masculine smells that sent her heart racing. And what was more, he was unfairly handsome, with a few days worth of stubble across a chiseled jaw and perfectly formed mouth. It made him look rugged, as if his good-looks were effortlessly there.

Then, she realized where and who she was. Here was Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, late in greeting the King of Rohan, and being ogled in the halls of Minas Tirith by a mere soldier!

"How dare you!" she cried, ripping her hand away. "I will have you know that I am the princess of Dol Amroth, and I demand respect. My father has had soldiers like you killed for doing less!"

She felt angered at the glimpse of the man's shocked face as she forcibly shoved by him. Was he truly surprised that a princess should be offended by such a lewd gesture? She felt almost like a common barmaid, being leered at like that.

And yet, and yet… the man had beautiful eyes.

"You really are an idiot," she berated herself under her breath, and kept walking.

* * *

She made it into the throne room still angry, but relieved to find that the King of Rohan had not yet arrived. Her father gave her a reproving glance for being late, but she looked determinedly at the floor and walked to her place on his left.

Next to her were Éowyn and her husband, Faramir. The woman was beaming and radiant in her beauty. It was clear she loved her husband, and she was excited to be reunited with her beloved brother.

Lothíriel had heard much about Éomer from Éowyn. She had said that most people had trouble liking her brother at first. He was forward in his ways, she had said, unlike the ways taught in Gondorian courts. "His favorite expression about Gondor is, 'Why do I have to dance around the subject for so long? Get to the point!'" she once said. But once he became your friend, he was fiercely loyal.

If anything, he sounded like a man who knew what he anted and was not afraid to die for his country or his loved ones. Perhaps, like Aragorn, then, Lothíriel thought. Grave and wise, though perhaps a bit more impulsive because he was younger.

Within a few moments of these thoughts, the great doors of the throne room opened with a groan from the hinges to reveal the servant that was to announce Éomer's arrival. "My lord Éomer would like to apologize for his lateness," the servant said, bowing deep at the waist. Lothíriel wanted to roll her eyes. Of course they had chosen one of the oldest and most proper manservants to announce the King of Rohan. "He was exploring the Great Halls and was lost in their beauty."

Lothíriel winced as she recognized the servant, who was known to be one of the prickliest about propriety. He had apparently been serving for so long that he had been given a status above remonstrance. Or at least he thought so from his jab at even the King of Rohan.

The servant stepped aside and the king entered. At first, Lothíriel could not make out any of the man's features for the light behind him was too bright.

"My greetings to you, King Elessar," a deep baritone cam from the figure, whose face was still obscured by shadow. "Queen Arwen, Prince Imrahil."

Aragorn stood as the other King approached. Lothíriel still could not make out his face, though she could now see that Éomer was very tall – in fact, none less tall than Aragorn. "Éomer!" the King cried. "Welcome. It is good to see you again, my friend."

The two men embraced as brothers and walked toward the throne together. Finally, Lothíriel made out Éomer's features, but almost gasped when she saw him. The face was stunningly handsome, but it was not that that made her senses go numb as the Rohirrim King greeted each of the assembly in turn.

Lothíriel was vaguely aware that he shook hands with her father and kissed Éowyn, but all her energy seemed to refocus when he turned to her. Her mouth went dry, and she felt her hands shaking at her sides as the man stood before her. _This is a nightmare. Wake up!_ Her mind cried, and yet, everything was much too real.

"My lord Éomer, may I present my daughter, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," she heard her father say from beside her. His voice sounded very far away.

"My lord," she found herself murmuring out of habit as she raised her hand to be kissed.

The man standing before her was smiling blandly, a perfectly acceptable expression for a lord meeting a lady. He took her hand easily, to her horror. "Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," he said, still smiling, his stubble now even more attractive that he was so close. The insignia of Eorl the Young was unmistakable on his chest, and even though he was in the great hall, he still wore his armor. "The tales of your beauty do you no justice for you are truly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen."

His blue yes glittered as he placed a kiss on her hand.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! I thought that I was done writing fan-fiction. I haven't been doing it for quite some time (almost 10 years!), but I recently just got back into it consistently. My heart will always be with the Lord of the Rings, so here I am again, still writing! _

_Please leave any feedback you have for me. They are much appreciated! _

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

The next few minutes dragged on horribly as Lothíriel struggled to breathe through her embarrassment. Éomer said nothing, but she was sure that the smile on his lips was one of the knowing sarcasm, and the arch of his eyebrow told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Thankfully, King Elessar interjected, leading Éomer away with a friendly hand on his shoulder. Lothíriel could feel the blood hot in her cheeks, and tough she was dimly aware that conversation was being made, she did not know what was being said.

The scene when she had shoved passed the King of Rohan continued to play in her head. She had screamed at him and even threatened death! What could he possibly think of her? And how in the world had she mistaken him for a common soldier? She noticed now his straight back, his confident strides, and most of all, the proud look in his eyes that reflected the history of his people.

It was only then that she turned back into the conversation.

"Your rooms have been prepared, Éomer," King Elessar was saying. "No business will be conducted today, except I shall expect your company at meal times. We have much to speak of." From the look on his face, Lothíriel could tell that Aragorn was truly glad to see his friend again.

"Of course, my friend," the King of Rohan returned, inclining his head. "In the meantime, I must say with some embarrassment that I have forgotten much of the layout of Minas Tirith. Perhaps a tour…?"

Aragorn nodded. "Ah, yes! I am sure Éowyn and Faramir would be more than happy to show you the corners of the city."

Éomer bowed courteously. "That would be wonderful, but I am afraid that I would be taking my sister and her husband from their duties."

"Oh, Éomer do not be rid—" Éowyn began, but both she and Lothíriel caught the look from the Rohirrim King. It could not have lasted for more than a moment, and Lothíriel would have missed it if she had blinked, but it had been unmistakably there. She did not know what Éomer was trying to convey, but years of understanding between brother and sister did not fail Éowyn.

"… offended," the woman finished smoothly. "I am terribly sorry, but it completely slipped my mind that Faramir and I agreed to meet with a counselor this morning about grain shipments to Ithilien."

Faramir looked as just as surprised at this news as everyone else, and Lothíriel could have sworn she saw Éowyn bite back a laugh.

"Do not worry, 'Wyn," the Rohirrim King said with a kind smile. "I am sure I can find another guide." He paused and seemed to think for a moment. "My Lady Lothíriel, you know the city quite well, do you not?"

Lothíriel's heart froze. He could not possibly want to be alone with her! She knew she would die of embarrassment if she actually had to confront him. "Not well," she stammered. "I have only been here a few times in my childhood."

"Nonsense," her father cut in, unaware of the slow death that he was putting his daughter through. "She spent many years running through the streets of Minas Tirith like a regular urchin. Her cousin could never keep her in check. She would be a fine guide to Minas Tirith for you, my lord." Lothíriel wanted to grind her teeth in annoyance. Now that the King of Rohan was interested in her, Lord Belegorn had flown from her father's mind.

"It is settled then," King Elessar said, smiling, though his eyes revealed that he, too, was quite puzzled. "The Lady Lothíriel will show you the city."

Éomer turned, his bright eyes glitteringly dangerously as he bowed deeply at her. "By your leave, my lady."

Lothíriel could do nothing but curtsy back.

* * *

Within a few minutes, the two of them were on the Silent Street alone, the White Tree of Gondor not far behind them. Lothíriel found it difficult to look at the king as she pointed out a few bland sight-seeing sites. The King of Rohan smiled and played along, his demeanor calm and pleasant, as if he were doing nothing but seeing a city led by a princess.

It was not until they reached the sixth pinnacle that he showed his true colors. Lothíriel had forgotten that the normal path between the sixth pinnacle and the fifth gate led right past a rather bawdy tavern, where many soldiers could be seen drinking and eating at all hours of the day.

"Ah, how kind of you, Lady Lothíriel, to show me a place where my men can enjoy themselves," he said, his tone not changing from that of his original conversational pleasantries.

Lothíriel tried to hide her shock at those words, but she turned her head too late, and Éomer caught a glimpse of her face. He laughed at her expression, not a cruel laugh, but one as if she had just told a very funny joke. The laugh caught the attention of some passers-by, who wondered for a few moments at this tall, golden-haired individual.

"I apologize. Was I being too crude? We 'soldiers' tend to do that," he said, his tone still pleasant, though Lothíriel could feel him leaning in towards her. He was inarguably huge, towering over her without even intending to.

She was dreading this moment, but at the same time, she was relieved that he had finally brought it up so that they could stop dancing around the true nature of their relationship. "My lord, I would like to apologize for what happened this morning. I was in a hurry to get to the Great Hall, and my judgment was impaired by my haste. Please excuse my error."

She bowed her head, but Éomer raised her chin gently with one hand. Lothíriel shivered at the touch of his fingers on her face. She did not know that the area connecting her jaw to her throat could be so sensitive, but she seemed to be able to feel every detail of his hand. His fingertips were rough, no doubt from riding and fighting all his life, but his touch was gentle, like a lion attempting to be a housecat.

"Nay, my lady, you misunderstand my jest!" he exclaimed softly. "I only meant to say that the experience was quite refreshing. Usually when I meet women, they are swooning over me."

Lothíriel could not help but roll her eyes; and just when she thought the king was being endearing! "Well, I hope I have done you some good, then," she said sarcastically before she realized to whom she was speaking.

To her surprise, Éomer laughed again. "Do you always speak this way, my lady?" he asked.

"What way?" she asked, finding herself turning away from the man and walking so that they could make it back to the castle.

"In insults. We have spoken together twice, and each time, you have managed to slide one in. I must commend your fathers and brothers for putting up with you." He matched her pace perfectly, his body surprisingly agile for such a large man.

Lothíriel could feel her hands balling into fists at her sides. "Are you calling me shrewish?" she asked, her question more of a threat than anything else. But Éomer was not easily scared.

"Well, if it trots like a horse and neighs like a horse…" he said, his long legs keeping in time with hers. It annoyed her to no end, as she was trying to walk as fast as she could, and he seemed to be merely ambling.

She stopped suddenly, and drew herself up to her full height, though that did not work as she intended, for she still only drew level with the king's chest. "How-!"

"Dare I?" the king interrupted, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "I dare because it is worth it to see you lose your temper. You are magnificent, like a swan opening its wings to protect her young." And just like that, Lothíriel was at a loss for words. How did this man do that? How could he get her so angry and tongue-tied when she had learned from the finest masters in Gondor on how to speak elegantly?

"If I be a swan, best beware, my lord," she said, finally finding her voice. She turned and began marching through the streets again. In Minas Tirith, there were city guards posted everywhere, and her father had deemed Éomer enough protection for her. Not many in the city knew what he looked like, and with his mail and broadsword, he could pass for a Rohirrim soldier. "They may be beautiful but are the deadliest of birds."

The man was still keeping up with her. "And that is why I like you." Before she could respond, he said, "Oh, shall we pause? You almost forgot to show me the famous Glassblowing Street."

Lothíriel stopped. The glassblowers were well-known in Gondor, but the Rohirrim seldom needed glass for anything but windows. She had learned from her studies that the horsemasters preferred things that were handy and useful, and beauty was secondary. "You did not need a guide at all!" she accused.

The Rohirrim King gave a nonchalant shrug. "It is bad form for a commander to so easily forget a place as important as Minas Tirith." His eyes were glittering again, and a small smile played on his lips. Lothíriel wanted to strike him.

"You wanted to get me alone to humiliate me for my error," she said in a cold voice. "That is not very chivalrous, my lord."

The king did not seem at all remorseful. "Why, you do me wrong, my lady," he said genially. "My only hope was to spend time alone with a beautiful woman. And if that is unchivalrous, you must excuse me. I am after all, only a _soldier_."

"Soldiers know humility, a quality which you seem to lack, my lord," she cried, in direct reaction to his mention of soldiers. It came out before she registered that he had called her beautiful. But she quickly shook off the compliment. After all, it had been buried in an insult.

Her remark seemed to take Éomer aback, something she did not expect. He suddenly bowed stiffly. "I was not aware my presence was so odious to my lady," he said, the mirth gone from his voice. "I propose we end this tour, so I may no longer inconvenience my lady."

Lothíriel stood, a little shocked. Éomer had seemed so pleased with himself that she did not think she was capable of hurting him. But clearly, something she said had struck a nerve.

"I…" the words stuck in her throat. Was she not annoyed with _him_? Did she not in fact find his presence odious? "Well, you must at least walk back with me to the citadel." Yes, that was at least proper. He could not expect to leave her by herself in the city.

The man nodded grimly and bowed, allowing her to walk before him.

She did so wordlessly, trying to figure out what she had done wrong, and for some bizarre reason, she felt she needed to apologize. Awkwardly, the two walked back to the 7th pinnacle, with Lothíriel thinking the entire time of how to alleviate the oppressive silence.

Finally, at the entrance to the Great Hall, she turned to face the King of Rohan. "My lord—" But her sentence was cut off as the man strode around her and entered the hall alone.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks again for the reviews, everyone! They are certainly encouraging me to write! I hope you continue to enjoy this fic! _

* * *

**Chapter 4**

* * *

She was distraught over her own actions, but she could not see Éomer until dinner. By the Valar, she _had _been shrewish by anyone's regard. How had she dared to say those things to a king? What had gotten into her? This really was not how she conducted herself.

By some magic of her father's, she was sitting right next to him, even though it was quite noticeable that she was wrongly placed.

Aragorn and Arwen sat at one end of the table, while Éomer sat at the other. She by her rank, was supposed to be somewhere in the middle next to her brothers. But she was sitting to Éomer's left, while his sister and her husband were at his right.

Even Éowyn noticed this breach of code and raised an eyebrow as Lothíriel removed her name placement and sat. Because of this arrangement, Lothíriel had no conversation partners. Éomer seemed to be avoiding her altogether, and on her other side was one of Éomer's captains, a surly Rohirrim soldier named Éothain, who was both reticent and stern.

All in all, it was a miserable dinner, and it was only at the very end that she saw a window of opportunity. Her father had just finished a lavish and lengthy toast, and the guests had all sat. Conversation had just picked up.

"My lord Éomer," she said loud enough so the King of Rohan could not ignore it. The King had not yet resumed his tête-a-tête with his sister, and, very unwillingly leaned toward herself. His face was blank.

"I…" she paused. "I want to apologize for what happened this morning," she said finally, her tone hushed so that no one else could hear her. "I did not mean to offend with my words. We were jesting, and I was merely continuing in that fashion."

Her eyes met the King's, and once again, she was taken aback by how handsome he was. His rugged features made him exciting enough to make her catch her breath, but his eyes promised civility and kindness. To her surprise he inclined his head.

"I am sorry, too," he said. "I am afraid I have behaved boorishly toward you, my lady. You are right, we were jesting, and I took your words to heart. How shall I make it up to you?"

Make it up to her? Had she not been the one in the wrong? Lothíriel shrugged off this thought. At least now, he was speaking to her, and she could feel herself break into a smile. Why she was so happy to have his attention, she did not know.

"Well, since you seem already so familiar with Minas Tirith, perhaps it is only fair that you tell me about Edoras," she said, still smiling. It was only after she finished speaking that she realized she had asked to spend more time along with the King, and Éomer her was giving her a strange look.

It was almost a look of wonder, but it was tinged by something else. Lothíriel struggled to read him. The first word that came to mind was "hunger," but that could not have been it. Éomer had just had a multi-course meal.

But almost as soon as it had come, the look had disappeared. "Of course," he replied, inclining his head once more. His voice was smooth and he smiled at her. "May I propose a walk through the halls after dinner?"

Lothíriel nodded. "Friends, then?"

The king chuckled at this. "Friends."

* * *

The two had decided to meet in an hour. This allowed time for Éomer to speak to a few important people, as well as thank Aragorn and Arwen. Lothíriel was to do the same, but she had a much shorter list of people to talk to, thank Eru.

After a quarter of an hour, she returned to her chambers, where she was met with a difficult decision: what gown she would wear to meet Éomer. She threw open the doors to her wardrobe and fingered a few dresses, but decided on none.

What exactly _did_ one wear while entertaining the King of Rohan? He was a horsemaster. What if he detested frills and lace and the like? She considered this for half a minute before throwing up her hands.

"Lothi, you idiot," she muttered. "Since when did you _care_ what Éomer thought of you?" She blew out a breath before realizing he had just called the King by his first name out loud as she had been doing all day in her head.

When had he warranted such familiarity?

She chewed her bottom lip. "You are a mess," she murmured. Perhaps it came from being around Éowyn for too long. Yes, that was it. She always referred to her brother by his first name, and it must have rubbed off on her.

But in all seriousness, she could not wear the same gown as she wore to dinner.

_You are an idiot,_ a voice in her head said. _This man risked his life to save his and your people, and you're here trying to figure out what color he likes best. Grow up._

* * *

"She is a remarkable woman, 'Wyn," Éomer said as soon as he was alone with his sister after dinner.

Éowyn turned to find her brother smiling, his eyes shining. While he had liked certain women before, he had never looked like this. "Um… who?"

Éomer snorted. "Lothíriel, of course!"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You are on a first name basis with her?"

The man frowned. "Well… no."

His sister sighed. "And did you not just tell me before dinner that you found the Princess of Dol Amroth disagreeable, pig-headed, and altogether shrewish?"

The man put up his hands. "Well, yes. But I did not mean that. I was angry then, and she did say some regrettable things." He paused, and at the look on his sister's face, he added, "For which she apologized."

The woman could not help but roll her eyes. "All right, so Lothíriel is a remarkable woman. What would you have me do about it? Tell her?" at the look on her brother's face, she laughed. "I am jesting, dear brother," she said. "But in all seriousness, what do you intend to do with her? Is this all fun and games, or are you going to marry her?"

Éomer frowned. "Bema above! I tell you that I find a woman interesting, and you automatically jump to marriage. What if I just want to be friends?" After all, those had been Lothíriel's words.

She shrugged at this. "Fine, brother," she answered, slightly annoyed. "But I know you."

The man crossed his arms, also annoyed. "Oh, do you?"

Éowyn sighed impatiently. "All right, perhaps you _do _just want to be friends, but take care not to take up too much of her time." At the confused look her brother gave her, she snorted. "Come now, Éomer. She is the Princess of Dol Amroth, and in the marriageable age bracket. Her father has been setting her up with many noble lords. But all of his work will be for naught if they see her always walking about with the unmarried King of Rohan at her side."

"And?" he questioned stubbornly. "If they truly wanted her, they would pursue her nonetheless." But he could not deny that having the beautiful princess all to himself brought about a certain jealous happiness.

His sister, thankfully, did not see that. "Really?" she exclaimed. "You are so daft at times, it is a wonder you are king!" She stopped herself before she could say more. "Sorry, I suppose you do not see yourself this way. You realize you are nearly twice the size of some of these men, and being King of Rohan, your status makes you even more formidable. These men see you and immediately give up!"

That, too, made him secretly happy. But, his sister was right. "Fine. I promise not to get in the way of Lothíriel's marriage prospects."

That was not enough for Éowyn, however. She turned to him with serious eyes, and an iron-set mouth. "Do not dally with her, Éomer," she warned. "She is truly one of the sweetest, most sincere friends I have here, and I regard her as a sister. If you want to be friends, fine. But leave her be otherwise."

Those words set Éomer aback. "What is that supposed to mean?" He was not known to toy with women, to sleep with them and then set them aside.

"Just do not hurt her, brother."


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you all for the wonderful feedback! I have really enjoyed reading your comments, and while I don't have the time to reply to each one, know that it brings me joy to know that people are reading my fic! _

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Lothíriel met Éomer in the antiques room, where he was waiting for her. He was closely observing a piece of tapestry; his eyes were so focused, he did not even notice her until she spoke.

"It's a wonder you've survived this long. Do you allow Orcs to sneak up on you like this?"

To say that he was surprised would have been the understatement of the age. He leaped up, his back straight, one elbow immediately thrusting back to protect himself. Had Lothíriel not jumped back, she would have suffered a nasty concussion.

Her heart was in her throat as the man turned, wildness in his eyes, until he recognized who she was. "I am sorry!" he cried, coming out of his fighting stance. His shoulders relaxed and his hands unraveled from fists. "I must have scared you, my lady."

Lothíriel shook her head and stood from her crouch. "No, I am sorry," she said quickly. "I should have known not to sneak up on you like that." She paused. "Or to make light of the war."

Éomer stepped toward her, but the sudden movement made her flinch. He stopped immediately. "My lady, you must find me a boor," he said, his voice tinged with hurt.

"No!" she said quickly. "On the contrary." She stepped closer to him and for some reason, her hand came up to settle on his arm. "You must find me incredibly insensitive. I… I am not like this usually. It is just that you…" She cut herself off before she could say more, but it was too late.

Éomer looked down at where her hand was on his arm. It only served to remind him how small she appeared, how fragile. "Yes?"

She quickly withdrew her hand. "I do not know what has come over me today," she said, trying to laugh. She tried to begin anew, as she felt the blood rise in her cheeks. "I believe I asked to meet you so you could tell me about Edoras. Will you not do that?"

Lothíriel looked up, only to find Éomer seeming surprised. But, he had been trained too well to let it be let on. "Yes, of course." He cleared his throat and began to describe his city as they walked through the hall.

Lothíriel found his description of his city charming. It was obvious he loved where he grew up, and the way he described the stables and fields showed that he loved riding. But one particular thing was missing.

Only after a few moments did she realize what it was.

It was the ease with which they carried on when he had teased her, when she had insulted him back. What they had that morning was now turned to politeness, to civility.

"I've had Firefoot since I was big enough to ride him," Éomer was saying. "I don't think my uncle was more proud of me than when I finally stayed on that damned beast." He suddenly realized what he said, and a look of horror came across his face. It was so funny, Lothíriel had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. "My lady, I apol—"

"Don't," she said, no longer able to hold in her laughter.

Éomer felt his heart leap a little at the sound of the woman's laugh. It made him want to laugh as well, but her next words made the laughter die upon his lips. "I don't want you to censor yourself around me."

A look passed between them, and it was only then that Lothíriel realized what she had said, but she did not take it back. "I will not, then," he replied.

She swallowed once, then turned to ask the question she had on her mind. "Will you tell me something?" she ventured. The man nodded. "This morning when I said that you lacked humility, you became angry. Was it just my words that made you so?"

Éomer peered down at the woman before him. Before this, he had known she was witty, headstrong, and beautiful, but this was the first time she had demonstrated her keen intelligence and empathy. In the end, there was no point in lying to her. "No," he admitted. "It was not just your words." She waited for him to answer.

"Do you know of the First Battle of the Fords of Isen?" he asked.

Lothíriel thought to her store of information of the War. Unfortunately, her knowledge was limited to what had occurred in Gondor, specifically concerning the economy of Dol Amroth. Her father and brothers had gone off to war, leaving her all but steward in name of the city.

"No, I am afraid not."

"It was one of the first times we met Saruman openly in battle," he explained. "His Urûk-Hai had sacked one too many of our villages, and my cousin and I had had enough. We were Marshals of Rohan, and it was our duty to protect our people.

"My uncle disagreed, of course, but I did not listen. Now, I know he was too far gone in Wormtongue's magic to oppose Saruman." He paused then, and closed his eyes. "To tell the truth, my cousin Théodred wanted a cautious approach. He wanted to sneak up to the Urûk camp and take them by surprise.

"I, on the other hand, wanted honor. I wanted glory. I wanted people to recognize what we were doing, because my uncle would not.

"In short, I convinced Théodred to ride with me. But we had miscalculated. There were more of them than we had anticipated, and even though we had the advantage of being on horseback, many of us fell. Including my cousin." Lothíriel could see the pain in the man's eyes, and she stepped toward him once again to comfort him, but did not know what to do after. "So you see, it was my fault Théodred was killed. I was young, stupid, and arrogant, and I killed someone I loved. Like you said, I had no humility."

She grabbed him by the hand. "_You_ did not kill him," she urged. "The Urûk-Hai killed him." He attempted to argue, but she brought a finger to his lips to hush him. "You saved your people. Your actions were good, and you cannot continue blaming yourself for the past." She swallowed. "And I am sorry for making that comment before. I did not realize it would hurt you."

"You did not know," he said, his lips still touching her finger. It was only then that she realized how close she was to him—one hand on his while the other was now touching the side of his face, brushing the whiskers on his cheek. "But you are wrong—I did kill him. Indirectly, anyway."

Lothíriel withdrew her hand at his face, realizing how inappropriate the touch was. Éomer immediately missed it.

"I used to be like that," she nearly whispered. "The guilt was too much, and I could not move forward." He looked down at her, and she could read his expression clearly, It was one many men gave her when she tried to speak of her problems. _What problems could you possibly have_? It always started. _You, a pampered princess living in the comforts of your castle._

But she kept speaking anyway. "I have never learned to swim because my father fears the seas," she began. "When I was very young, I loved the waters, and one day, I ran down the beach toward them. It was high tide, and suddenly, the waters were all around me. I could not breathe or hear or see. But suddenly, I felt arms around me, pulling me up. My mother had run in after me to save me. We had both lost consciousness before my mother's guards could pull us up.

"I survived. My mother did not. I thought, for so long, that I had killed her and that my father hated me. He would look at me, and he would say nothing. Finally, one day, I decided to run away because I could not bear it anymore.

"My father's guards soon found me, of course, and brought me back. My father asked me why I had gone, and I told him. I did not want to live in a place where I was hated. He told me that he did not hate me. It was the only time I had seen my father cry. And even though I was young I realized he did not blame me.

" 'The seas could have taken both of you,' he said. 'And I thank Eru every day for bringing you back.' My mother gave her life to save her child. Do I still feel guilty?" She breathed in sharply. "Yes. Every day. But I cannot let what happened that day affect me always."

She looked up at the man again, and found true sympathy in his eyes. "I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly.

"And I for yours," she answered. "But those are things of the past. This is a new age. And we must look forward toward the future."

His eyes were positively glowing now, and Lothíriel was struck once more by how handsome he was. His whiskered cheeks were perfectly formed, his nose tall and shapely. His lips were full and soft, and she could not help thinking that had he been her first kiss, she would not have regretted it.

"What do you see in your future, my lady?" he asked, stepping even closer to her and leaning down so that his face was only inches from hers. If only he knew what he was doing to her …

"Marriage," she said softly, trying to keep her composure. "To someone that is worthy of my station."

He examined her, his blue eyes piercing through the wall that she was hastily trying to construct so as to block him from her innermost corner. But he saw through her. "That is not what you want, is it?" he asked, his voice gentle. She shook her head. "What is it you want?"

_You_…

She had no idea where that thought came from, but she banished it from her mind immediately. But too late, she looked away, and Éomer read the longing in her expression. It made his body roar to life, and his heart beat twice as fast as normal. Without thinking, he leaned down, took her face in his hands, and kissed her with all his might.

Lothíriel had no idea anything in the world could make her feel so safe. Éomer's hands moved from her face, and his arms encircled her waist, but his lips never left hers. His mouth was warm and soft, and she leaned in, wanting more of the kiss. He granted her the wish by deepening it, his arms pulling her even closer.

When he finally stopped, Lothíriel did not know how she was standing. Both her hands were still on his chest, and she was still leaning into him. Éomer liked her weight against his: it was slight but comforting, almost as if she were supporting him.

But it was not long before she came to her senses. She was standing in the middle of the antiques room, having just kissed a man she had only known for a few hours. Quickly, she stepped back from him. He immediately felt the loss. "I… I am sorry," she said, her breath coming fast. "I should not have done that. You must… you must think me very forward."

"Lothíriel…" it was the first time he had ever addressed her by her full name. The word sounded beautiful with his Rohirrim accent, and the tenderness in his eyes made him even more endearing. He scared her half to death.

"I apologize," she said. "It is late. I must leave."

She turned and almost ran from the room.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks again for reading! I've loved all your comments and feedback. Please continue to leave me reviews to let me know where I can improve! _

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

She did not run of course.

She had undergone too much training as a princess to do that.

But she might as well have.

Lothíriel could not sleep at all that night, as she tossed and turned, thinking about what she had done. He had kissed _her_, surely, so why was she so terrified? _Because you liked it and kissed him back._

The morning came with a maid who laid out a riding habit for her after she broke her fast alone on a cup of tea. She did not feel much like eating. "What is this?" she asked the maid.

"There is a plan to go riding beyond the city, milady," the girl said. "The King knows that his guests from Rohan like to ride and planned it especially for them."

"Ah, I had forgotten," she replied, trying to keep a neutral expression. But her heart was racing. How was she to face Éomer so soon after last night? And would she be able to act normally?

Her questions were soon answered when her brother Amrothos came to fetch her. "All dressed then?" he aid cheerfully upon seeing her. "Are you ready to give the Lady Éowyn a run for her money?"

She rolled her eyes. Her youngest brother always seemed to be cheerful, no matter the occasion. Even though he was almost three years older than she, at heart, he was like a child. And for some reason, he could always make her feel better. "Only if I do not ride side saddle," she answered. "And you know if I try to ride astride, Father is going to have a heart attack."

Lothíriel had had her fair share of experience with horses, and though her riding master had only taught her side-saddle as per request by her father, she always rode astride when around her brothers.

She and Amrothos made their way to the exit of the Great Hall. "You stay out of trouble," she warned him.

He feigned an innocent look. "Me? Trouble? Those two words don't even sound right in the same sentence." Lothíriel made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. Amrothos was the definition of young and brash. He had joined the tail end of the War of the Ring, where he had done a few heroic deeds. The women had come flocking, and like any twenty-something man, he had let it get to his head.

"If anything, make sure not to annoy Elphir," she said as they walked.

He snored. "Everything annoys Elphir. It is a wonder he is able to sit a horse, with that giant pole he always has up his arse."

"Amrothos!"

Her brother grinned at her sheepishly. "Have I hurt the lady and her sensibilities?" he jested lightly. She gave him a droll look, but knew where he was coming from. Elphir, being the oldest out of the bunch, had had to grow up very quickly when their mother died. He also knew he was to rule Dol Amroth after their father and always took this role a little too seriously. Even Imrahil had told him that if he did not slow down, he would have an aneurysm before he was forty.

It was no wonder Elphir's and Amrothos's personalities clashed.

"He is still our brother," she reminded him. In truth, Lothíriel had always been closer to Erchirion and Amrothos growing up. Elphir had been more than ten years her senior, and because of his role as heir, he had always been kept separate from the other children after he was in his teens.

At the entrance to the great hall, horses were already saddled and ready for their use, and Lothíriel found her mare, Diamond, easily enough. She was one of the smaller horses, and her gentle demeanor made her shy away from the more aggressive stallions.

One of these aggressors was a large, red stallion who stomped his feet and chewed his bit impatiently, as if wondering where his master was. He showed himself almost immediately after Lothíriel stepped onto the footstool that helped her get up her horse. Seeing who it was, she breathed out heavily.

Her father really was working to get her married, for again, she was next to the King of Rohan. He, too, caught her eye, but said nothing. With an easy grace, he mounted his horse before nodding a good morning to her. "I hope you slept well, my lady," he ventured, though he still seemed hesitant after last night's business.

"I did," she lied curtly. Then, realizing she was being rude, she said, "This is my horse, Diamond, my lord. She was purchased from Rohan, and I have never had a horse more gentle."

Éomer smiled, but his horse whinnied loudly, as if he felt cheated out of an introduction. The man rolled his eyes and patted the horse on the side of his neck. "This is Firefoot, my lady," he said. "Born and raised in Rohan, and I have never had a horse more stubborn." Firefoot tossed his head.

Lothíriel was astonished. "He understands!"

The King of Rohan continued to smile. "Yes, he does. He's too smart for his own good, I can tell you that much." Firefoot tossed his head again.

She could not help but smile at this relationship between man and beast. "Be careful, my lord" she said, eying the large stallion. "Keep insulting Firefoot like that and he may throw you when you least expect it." Firefoot look like he agreed.

Their conversation was interrupted by the call to start riding. Lothíriel found that she was near her three brothers, Éowyn, and her husband. To her surprise, her brother each addressed the King of Rohan by name, and also greeted Faramir rather warmly. Only after a moment did she remember that they must have met Éomer during the war, and she was the only child to not have really met the king until now.

The men began to talk of fighting techniques and battle possibilities, and Lothíriel soon lost interest.

"How goes it, 'Wyn?" she asked her friend as their horses fell in step with one another. "With those… grain shipments?"

Éowyn laughed. "Nothing gets past you, does it?" she asked. "How was the tour of the city?"

"Your brother does not need it. He knows the city better than I do," she answered.

The other woman gave her a small smile. "It take it you have figured out why a man would want to spend extra time with a beautiful woman, then?"

Lothíriel furrowed her brow. "You are saying he likes me?"

"Obviously my brother likes you," Éowyn said, and Lothíriel felt her heart skip a beat. "He did not have a chance, with a woman with your looks."

"Do not tease, Éowyn," she chided, but secretly, she was glad that Éomer found her pretty. But her thoughts turned to the kiss, and she sobered. Whether or not he liked her, their relationship was progressing far too quickly for her liking.

"And do you like him?" her friend asked. Lothíriel should have known the question was coming, but it still surprised her.

"I like him as a person," she said diplomatically. "He is nice enough, if that is what you mean." Éowyn gave her a look that said she was clearly not, and the other woman sighed. When Éowyn wanted to know something, she would come to know it in the end, so Lothíriel felt she should be upfront. "As for the other type of like, I do not know," she said. "I have only known your brother for a day."

That seemed to satisfy her friend until they left the City Gates to ride out into the Gladden Fields. It was a beautiful spring morning, with only a few clouds overhead. That, at least, was good, for the party had planned to picnic for luncheon. Rain would definitely spoil those plans.

"Good morning, sister."

Lothíriel looked to her right, in the direction of the voice, to find her brother Erchirion. The men seemed to have broken up their conversation, of which she was secretly glad—she had heard more than enough of battle tactics at the dinner table from her father and three brothers.

"Good morning," she returned. "What have you been up to?" She realized she had not seen Erchirion for a few days now, as all of her time had been taken up by Lord Belegorn and her father's plans for her marriage. Interestingly, Lord Belegorn was nowhere to be seen today.

"Boring things, I am afraid," he answered. "Like you, father has been trying to get me married off. I have been in loads of meetings with Ladies This-or-That the past five days."

Lothíriel smiled. Her second brother was the best looking of the bunch, with his jet black hair and fine bone structure. The ladies must have been delighted to meet him. "Boring?" she asked. "I thought you would rather enjoy being surrounded by women."

Erchirion made a face. "Unfortunately, it seems money and looks are inversely proportional among Gondorian women," he said. "Those that please father do not please me, and those that please me do not please father." He seemed slightly uncomfortable talking about his love life, however, and quickly turned the questions on her. "And what of you? How goes your search for a husband?"

It was Lothíriel's turn to make a face. "You mean father's search for my husband," she said, rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I want no part in it."

"Well, you are going to have to marry sooner or later, as Princess of Dol Amroth," Erchirion said with a smile. "Mother the children of some great lord or another."

That did not please her at all. Seeing the disgusted look on his sister's face, Erchrion's voice became kinder. "I know you want to be a healer, Lothi, but that is not fitting for people of our status."

"So people of our status should not care about the welfare of others?" she asked bitterly. Her horse neighed as her hand tightened on the reins.

"You know that is not what I meant," he said. "But we must care about them in another way. In a broader sense of the word." When his sister did not say anything, he added, "Governing over them is also a way of caring for people."

Lothíriel blew out a puff of air. "But who gave us the right to rule?" she asked. "What is the difference between me and a peasant? We were both born. Had they switched us at birth, no one would know the difference."

Her brother rode up so he was directly beside her. "There _is_ a difference," he said, his voice low. "We were born noble, others not. That is why we have what we have. We earn it through our service to the people."

She did not look convinced, but Erchirion left her to face her thoughts, not quite sure his own were straight anymore.

* * *

The small group stopped after another hour of riding and made ready for the picnic. Unexpectedly, rain clouds had moved in, and the servants hurried to put up a tent. Lothíriel dismounted and, with the help of her maid, cleaned off the dust and dirt from her riding habit before entering.

Chairs had been too heavy to bring, so they all sat on the floor, with the large serving platters in the middle. The food was simple, consisting mostly of fruit and bread and cheese, but the outside environment made the food seem better and the company brighter.

Even when the rain began to fall, the company did not fret. It was just spring showers, Lothíriel's father said. Perfectly normal for this time of year. It would clear quickly, and they could be on their way.

They were halfway through the meal when one of the guards entered hurriedly and whispered quickly in King Elessar's ear. The man's face remained stony, but he nodded once after the guard finished. His eyes were piercing as he rose from his place, his food left on his plate. "Men, with me," he said. Lothíriel had never heard his voice so commanding. "Everyone else, stay inside."

His presence was enough so that none of the men questioned him. Within moments, they had all risen, weapons in their hands. Lothíriel saw the determined look on her brothers' faces and rose with the men.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asked the guard directly.

He was too obedient to not answer. "Orcs have crossed the river. They smell the horses and are heading this way."

Screams came up from the maids, and Lothíriel caught a look of exasperation from the King before he exited the tent. This was exactly what he did not want to happen: panic. She tried to stay calm, but her heart raced within her.

Éomer moved past her, and she looked up to him, but he was intent upon his sister. He spoke in his own tongue, and she watched as he handed Éowyn his spare sword. Faramir, too, saw this, and his eyes flashed.

"Not in her condition," he warned, his eyes steely.

A look passed between husband and wife, and Éowyn took the sword. "I will remain here," she said, holding the scabbard. "We need protection in here just in case."

With that, the men were gone, and Lothíriel was left with Arwen, Éowyn, and a few servants. Some of the women were shaking where they stood. "Get away from the sides of the tent!" Éowyn's voice was loud and commanding. The women quickly moved to the center of the tent, around the half-eaten food.

No one was calm enough to sit, and the seven women stood around the cloth of food, each looking in a different direction. Everything was eerily quiet.

Then the sounds of battle came to them, and Lothíriel's heart skipped a beat. Never had she been this close to fighting. Her father had made sure to keep her locked away in Dol Amroth during the War of the Ring, and for good reason. Her hands were shaking; she was no shieldmaiden like Éowyn.

It was almost as if they waited for eternity.

But just when she thought she could wait no longer, a dark figure appeared at the side of the tent. She almost let out a cry of relief—the men had won and they were back. One of the maids thought the same and ran forward.

"No!" Éowyn cried, pulling the woman back. She drew the sword just as a curved scimitar ripped through the fabric. In stepped the ugliest creature Lothíriel had ever seen. Its skin was the color of burnt parchment so that the whites of its eyes were startling against the darkness. The Orc's mouth was filled with rotten, yellowing teeth as it snarled at them, dripping water onto the tarp floor.

Lothíriel stepped back. The fighting was close, and the men had accidentally let this creature slip past. Éowyn was the only one between herself and the creature.

It let out a triumphant cry at the sight of the women, and ran forward, its sword swinging high. The shieldmaiden met its downward thrust with her own parry. The Orc swung again, but the woman matched him again.

Then Lothíriel saw it.

The creature's eyes flashed as he struck out with his left hand, landing a hard blow on Éowyn's abdomen. She cried out and fell back, clutching her stomach as she let go of the sword.

Lothíriel was at her side before she knew how she got there. "Éowyn!" The next few moments flashed by in an instant. The Orc screamed in glee at the sight of her, too, coming to die. He swung downward with the sword. Somehow, she was now holding Éowyn's sword, and she had blocked the blow with a clumsy upper swing. Sparks flew as metal touched.

She remembered sparring with her brothers whenever her father was not watching, but their blows had been nothing like this. Her entire body rang from the force of it, and her arm almost went numb from the sensation.

Lothíriel knew she had to stand, and she raised herself from where Éowyn lay. _Think, Lothi, think! _She commanded herself. She tried to remember the tricks her brother shad taught her, but nothing came except for another blow from the Orc. She parried, as it was the only thing to do, then thrust the sword forward with all her might.

To her surprise, it sank into the Orc's throat, and it fell, blood gurgling as it breathed in its own life's blood. As Lothíriel pulled the blade out, however, she must have nicked an artery, for blood spurted from the wound, spraying her face, dress, and arms.

She yelped and pulled the blade back, her hands slick with blood. Around her, the other women were screaming.

But before she could attend to Éowyn, who was still on the ground, another Orc burst through the same slit in the tent. More screams.

Lothíriel did not have time to open her own mouth, as the Orc was upon her, having seen the body of its fallen comrade.

She knew immediately this would be different. She had caught the other creature off guard, but this one was wary. It knew she could kill, and it was not about to end up the same as its brother. It circled her, and she tried to follow, keeping it away from Arwen and the maids.

It lashed out then, its weapon circling her. She jumped out of the way, but the scimitar caught her right arm, leaving a shallow gash. She cried out at the sharp pain, and the creature chose this moment to attack again. It swiped from her left using its right arm. Lothíriel jumped out of the way just in time, and slashed out wildly. The Orc roared in pain.

The clank next to her made her realize she had taken off its sword hand. But, it came for her, bloody stump outstretched. She screamed now, in terror, and swung the sword with all her might from left to right.

The creature fell, headless.

Footsteps came in the direction of the entrance of the tent, and she spun around, her sword coming down, ready to strike. It met another weapon that came to parry.

She came to her senses quickly enough to realize that she was standing before her father. The reality of her situation hit her, and she felt a gust of wind enter her lungs. The sword was suddenly incredibly heavy in her arms, and she dropped the weapon.

Her father crushed her in an embrace. She was shaking in his arms. "Lothíriel, what happened? Are you hurt?" He finally let her go, his eyes roaming over the blood that covered her.

"I am alright," she managed to gasp. All around her, the men crowded to see if she had been wounded. "I am not hurt. Éowyn… Éowyn needs help!"

Elphir was next to her now, his hair matted against his head from the rain, and his dark eyes stormy with anger and worry. "You are covered in blood!"

She reeled now, from the noise of the men and the smell of the fight. "It is not mine," she said, still gulping air. "The Orcs…" she stumbled forward then, remember where Éowyn was.

But the other woman was already being helped by her brother and her husband. One hand was on her belly, but the pained look Lothíriel saw on her face earlier was gone. Now that she could think, Lothíriel finally pieced the bits together. Of course… Her condition and her protectiveness of her belly…

"Éowyn!" she ran forward. "The child?"

Her friend smiled at her weakly. "Alright," she managed. "I was scared for a moment, but we are both fine." She smiled again, shaking off her brother. "I am sorry you had to find out like this."

Lothíriel's reply was interrupted by King Elessar. He had found his wife unharmed, and now reassumed his role as leader. "Get the wounded and dead on the horses," he commanded the guards. It was only at these words that Lothíriel remembered the hazards of battle and turned to her father.

As Aragorn gave out more orders, she asked frantically, "Father, where are Amrothos and Erchirion?"

Her father's face was grim. "Alive. Erchirion took a nasty gash to the head, but he will heal." He frowned. "Are you sure you are alright?"

She nodded just as King Elessar appeared at her side. "It seems Dol Amroth breeds strong women as well as men," he said, addressing her. "Lothíriel, you have saved the lives of the women here today, including that of my wife. For that, I am in your debt." He bowed deeply, and Lothíriel could only curtsy on shaky legs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

* * *

It was another half hour before things were properly sorted, and the company was back on their way to Minas Tirith. They had lost only two men, both guards of King Elessar's household, but many more were wounded. The Orc party had been small, most likely a raiding party that was part of a scattered band left over from the War. They must have been starving, which is why they had decided to cross the River in full daylight. The rain, at least, gave them some cover.

It was still raining now, and Lothíriel was glad for it. It felt as if she were being washed of the uncleanliness of the Orc blood.

Éomer rode next to her, having left Éowyn to the care of Faramir. "Thank you for what you did today," he said. "My sister is alive because of you."

"Do not thank me," she said. "I did what had to be done."

The man could hear the fear in her voice. "The Rohirrim recognize bravery when they see it," he said. "What you did would have marked a boy's transition to a man in the Riddermark."

She did not say anything until they had ridden into the city amidst gasps and cries and dismounted before the Great Hall. "You are wrong, my lord," she said to him then. "I was not brave. I was more scared than I had ever been in my life."

Éomer stepped closer to her, and she immediately felt dwarfed by the man. Had she had to face an Orc his size, she would not have faired so well. "But you fought through your fear." He brought a hand beneath her chin to raise her face. "And for that, you are brave."

* * *

After a hot bath and a change of clothes, Lothíriel was feeling more like her normal self. The small gash, though it looked ugly, was easy to clean, and with a bandage over it, it was almost as if it did not exist. She made her way to the Houses of Healing, where she found Erchirion happily drinking from a tankard, a bandage around his head. Deeming her brother in no danger, she was ready to pass the rest of the evening with a good book, wrapped in her bathrobe.

But her maid interrupted her time alone with a message from Arwen, asking to see her in the Queen's chambers. Though she loved her friend dearly, Lothíriel grumbled as she threw on a more appropriate dress in which to meet the Queen.

Within the half hour, she was walking into Arwen's room. Éowyn was already there, and greeted her warmly. "The hero of the hour," she added. Though she was being sarcastic, there was nothing but friendliness in her tone. "I swear, the men cannot stop talking about you, and the news that the Princess of Dol Amroth knows how to use a sword has been spreading around the city. I overheard two guards talking about how you slew five Orcs single-handedly."

Lothíriel rolled her eyes. Such was the way of gossip. "Should you not be resting?" she asked Éowyn. "The child has had a nasty shock today." She went and sat at the foot of Arwen's bed, facing the other two women.

Éowyn made a face. "Oh, not you too," she grumbled. "Faramir has been hounding me to stay in bed, but both the child and I are as strong as stallions."

Arwen made an impatient sound in her throat. "Why did you not tell us, 'Wyn?" We would never have let you wield the sword, shieldmaiden or no."

The other woman laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Well, had I known Lothi was so skilled with a blade, I would have gladly surrendered guard duty to her. But the reason I did not tell you I was with child was because I wanted to wait until Faramir and I announced it publicly. Besides, I am only three months along. There was no need for everyone to fuss about me. Faramir alone is quite enough."

"Well, congratulations, despite your attempts at hiding it from us," Lothíriel said, smiling. "Have you come up with any names?"

Her friend shook her head. "Not yet," she answered. "Like I said, I'm only three months along. There is plenty of time for names and such." She then turned a mischievous eye on Lothíriel. "How goes it with you and my brother?"

Arwen, too, leaped up at the topic. "You and Éomer?"

The other woman let out an exasperated sigh. "There is no 'me and Éomer.' Friends, I have only known the man for a day!"

"That is enough time to determine whether or not you like him," the Queen said, raising her eyebrows. Lothíriel's mind immediately turned to the kiss she and Éomer had shared the night before, and her cheeks became hot. She looked up to find the elf smiling at her. "And I take it you have fallen for the young King of the Mark."

The woman opened her mouth to protest, but Éowyn and Arwen burst out laughing. "What?" Lothíriel asked indignantly.

Éowyn stopped herself long enough to answer. "You seem to know something we do not," she said. The other woman could only splutter at this. "Fine," her friend replied, winking at Arwen. "Keep your secrets. Arwen and I will get to you yet."

But the other woman could already feel a headache coming on, and she brought a hand up to the bridge of her nose to massage her sinuses. "I never said that I did not," she answered, again diplomatic. "All I am saying is that it is too early to determine anything, and I wish you would not jump to conclusions."

Éowyn rose and walked to Arwen's beside table, where, Lothíriel noticed, there was a large bottle of red wine and three glasses. The woman raised her eyebrows. The bottle looked quite old, and she wondered when it had been laid down. It was possible that her friend was now uncorking a very good and very expensive bottle of wine. Then again, she was with the queen of Gondor, and if she was not entitled to good wine, then who was?

The Rohirric woman poured out three generous glasses and handed the first to the Lady Arwen before giving the others to Lothíriel and herself. Lothíriel took a sip. The wine _was_ good. And strong too, she could not help but think to herself.

"Alright," Éowyn said, sitting once more and sipping her wine. "Then tell us exactly what _has_ happened between the two of you so that Arwen and I do not 'jump to conclusions.'" She flipped her golden hair over her shoulders and looked at Lothíriel smugly. The princess swallowed more wine, realizing that this was going to be a long night, and she would not easily escape the questioning.

Sighing again, she decided to tell them the story.

* * *

Lothíriel woke the next day with sore muscles and a sore head. She moaned as she got out of bed, and found that she could neither face the open window nor raise her arms above her head. The weapon and wine had certainly laid waste to her entire body, and she felt like crawling back into bed. That feeling deepened when she remembered what she had told Éowyn and Arwen last night about Éomer.

Her brashness, the kiss… even how she thought how handsome his blue eyes and whiskers made him. Lothíriel made a face at herself in the mirror as she splashed cold water from the washing basin on herself. Éowyn had known exactly what she was doing when she poured the wine; Lothíriel would never have said any of those things sober. Now, she could only hope her friends' memories were as hazy as hers.

Thinking this, she wondered how she would ever face the King of Rohan now that she had revealed all her secret thoughts about him to his sister. "You are an idiot," she muttered to herself as she cleaned her teeth.

It was why she asked to take her breakfast in her room, where she could sit by herself and think on her actions. It also lessened the suspicion that she had been drinking last night; she doubted her father would be happy to see her this way, her eyes bloodshot and her clothes still smelling of wine.

After several glasses of orange juice, Lothíriel was beginning to feel more like herself again, and she read over her diary for the week. She was scheduled to work at the Houses of Healing today, and she thanked Eru for the excuse to avoid her friends and Éomer. With the help of her maid, she quickly donned the simple dress of the healers; when she came to Minas Tirith, she had already known something of the healing arts, and the Houses, which were always understaffed, took her and her help gratefully.

She arrived an hour earlier than she was scheduled to, but as the Houses always needed workers, she was quickly made busy. She lost herself in the work. Lothíriel had always been good with her hands, and healing came naturally to her. The sight of blood and other bodily fluids did not disgust her, and she made decisions quickly. While she did not do the gruesome work of the barbers, she sometimes assisted them in the daily deeds of tooth pulling, lancing, and the occasional amputation.

She recognized many of the guards that had been injured the day before in the fight with the Orc band, and she volunteered her time with them, even though she thought war wounds were the most difficult to heal.

One soldier was Rohirrim, barely a child out of his teens. He had taken a deep cut to the chest from an Orc scimitar, and while the wound was not critical, it was ugly. "My lady!" he recognized her in the midst of her changing his bandage. He tried to bow and cover up his nakedness in the same motion, but only succeeded in irritating the wound. He cried out and clutched at his chest.

"We dispense of titles here," Lothíriel said gently, moving the boy's hand so that she could wash the wound. "I am just Sister Lothíriel for now. What is your name?"

"Halef, son of Hama, my—" the boy caught himself, "—sister." His accent was thick, but his common was very good. _Not just a common soldier, then,_ Lothíriel thought. At least the son of some captain or other.

Lothíriel continued talking to the boy, soothing him as she rubbed the wound with alcohol so that it would remain clean. The healer before her had hastily bandaged him up, no doubt because there had been others more seriously hurt. She ran her needle through candle flame to sterilize it before she began to sew the wound shut.

Halef winced each time the needle entered his skin, but he let slip no other sign of pain, like a true Rohirrim soldier. "The other soldiers say you, like Lady Éowyn, is a shieldmaiden," he ventured, wondering at this lithe, beautiful girl before him. The bones in her hands were fine, and her touch was so gentle, he could not imagine her fighting with a sword. "Is it true that you slew five Orcs before the men could get to you?"

Lothíriel did not pause in her sewing, but rolled her eyes. "Stories do grow as they travel," she commented. "I am hardly a shieldmaiden. I played at swords with my brothers when I was younger, and that is the extent of my knowledge of weaponry." She was near the end of her work on the boy, but Halef insisted.

"Did you kill five Orcs?"

She tied off the thread and cut it with a sharp pair of scissors before pouring alcohol over the entire wound again. Halef hissed at the pain. "I killed two," she stated with finality. "And that was due more to their stupidity than my own skill." She took fresh bandages and began to wind them around the boy's torso again.

"You are brave and beautiful, my—sister Lothíriel," the boy said to her embarrassment. It made her more than a little angry as well. Halef would only concentrate the heroic deeds she did as told by someone else and her looks, but here, before him, she had expertly stitched his wound in record time with minimal pain to him. And he said nothing of that. To him, she was like a statue; perhaps a brave and beautiful one, but a statue nonetheless that was made to be looked upon and admired, not to be treated as human.

"Thank you," she said curtly as she tied the ends of the bandage together. "You should probably rest here for two more days, but after, you should be ready again for duty, Halef." With that, she left the boy and continued to work.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

* * *

The sun was westering by the time her shift ended, and she was tired to the bone. She enjoyed the exhaustion – this was good, honest work, and as a princess, she rarely got any. Her fatigue, however, did not excuse her from dinner. Despite the accident with the Orcs, King Elessar still seemed determined to carry out a full, seven-day Gondorian celebration of Éomer's visit.

Lothíriel had to change quickly, and even then, she was late for the dinner bell. Her father gave her a hard look when she approached the table just as the first course was being served, but no one else seemed to notice. She rubbed her injured arm for emphasis to gain her father's sympathy, but by that time, he had looked away.

She noted again that she was sitting next to Éomer. How her father kept pulling these strings was a mystery to her.

Erchirion was sitting across from her, cheerfully chatting with Éowyn and Faramir. He looked normal except for the large bandage wrapped around his forehead. Her hand trembled at the thought of the battle, and she put down her knife to keep it from clattering against her plate.

The food that night was especially good, as Lothíriel was very hungry. There was roast duck, turnips cooked in wine and butter sauce, and even –she was sure it was her father's ironic idea—baked swan. The skin of the bird crackled and popped, as it had come right out of the oven, and when Lothíriel bit into a piece, the juice of the meat filled her mouth.

Her favorite of the dishes were the summer greens, which were dressed with all kinds of fruit. Pieces of strawberries, grapes, and oranges sweetened the crisp lettuce and spinach, and she found herself going back for seconds.

The King of Rohan was in a jovial mood. He jested with King Elessar and poked fun at his sister. He drove her to laughter many times, which seemed to please him.

"There will be dancing after the meal," he said, turning his blue eyes toward her. "Will you be so kind as to save a few, my lady?"

The feasting was putting even Lothíriel in a good mood despite what had occurred this morning during her shift at the Houses of Healing. "A few, my lord?" she said teasingly. "Well, that depends on how well you dance. I shall grant you my first, but you will have to earn the next few."

Éomer's eyes glittered in the torchlight, and Lothíriel thought she could see her own reflection in their clear, bright blueness. Around them, the conversation went on, the musicians continued to play, but for a moment, it was as if they were in their own world. "My lady has seen right through me," he said with a smile. "I thought that I would be able to get by on my good looks alone."

The princess gave an unlady-like snort. "If you always rely on that, you will find, one day, that it will fail."

The man smiled wider, taking a sip of his sweet wine. "Looks I may lose as the years go on, but will you not agree I will always have my charm?"

Lothíriel mirrored him, taking a sip of her own wine. It was absolutely exhilarating to have someone to flirt with this way, especially someone with a tongue quick enough to match hers. "Everyone knows that the man who toots his own horn is just full of hot air," she retorted.

Éomer laughed out loud at that. "Are you always this cruel to men, my lady?" he asked. "I am lucky to not be run through by that sharp tongue of yours!"

"You do not have a blunt one yourself," she retorted. "I am only parrying your blows!" Their conversation continued this way, quick, easy, and light-hearted. The princess realized she had truly found her match in wordplay, and she could not have been more delighted.

When it came time for dancing, she gladly shared her first dance with the Rohirrim King, who, again, showed that he was an agile and graceful man despite his size.

The two would have continued dancing and quipping at each other all night had one of Éomer's captains not stepped in.

"Excuse me, my lord," the man bowed low from the waist. He, too, had yellow hair, but his eyes were green. The man appeared a few years older than Éomer, and while tall, he was still a hand shorter than his king. "May I ask Lady Lothíriel for a dance?"

"Of course, my lord," she answered, as was appropriate, and curtsied, though she had no idea who this man was.

Éomer, on the other hand, allowed his eyes to roll heavenward. "My lady, this is Captain Éothain of the Mark, Marshal of the Eastfold and Warden of the Riddermark. He also happens to be a good friend and a constant annoyance."

Lothíriel caught a glance that was exchanged between the two, but could not decide what it meant. The king, however, bowed to her and left her alone with his friend.

"It is good to meet you, my lord," she said as she curtsied to the beginning of this new dance. She recognized him as the man that sat next to her during her first dinner with Éomer.

"Aye, and it is good to meet you, my lady," the captain replied. He held out his right hand to formally invite her, and they were off. The dance was a moderate tempo, permitting the two to talk, though Lothíriel found it slightly awkward now that Éomer was not there. Still, she was a princess, and that meant she had to facilitate such social situations.

"How long have you and King Éomer known each other?" she asked. "He mentioned you were good friends." She turned into the twirl that Éothain held his right hand up for, stepping closer to the man.

"Since we were lads," the man replied. The two now clapped once to the beat and stepped in such a way that their backs were to each other. They then stepped to opposite sides and came together once more. "I have known my Lord Éomer since he was a boy of thirteen—I was eighteen at the time and already a Rider. I met him when he tried to sneak on a ride with us. He was successful and killed his first Orc on that ride."

Lothíriel was turned by the man so they could promenade—his hands were on her waist and guiding her wrist as they whisked about on the dance floor and came only inches from the dining tables. She was quickly finding that while Éothain was a good dancer, he lacked the gentleness of Éomer's touch and was rougher in his lead. "A boy of thirteen!" she exclaimed. "How did he escape notice?"

He was now facing her again, and they advanced—he walking forward, she backward. "He was already a big lad then, as tall as most men," he answered. His handsome face was unreadable. "Hidden under a helm, he could have passed for a rider." He paused as they continued to dance. "I have been looking out for him ever since."

Lothíriel tried to smile, but she could not help feeling that she was getting swept off her feet—Éothain was advancing quite quickly, and she could barely keep up her backward step. "A wonderful tale of friendship, my lord," she returned, beginning to pant from her exertion.

Just as suddenly as the captain had begun his advance, he stopped and dipped her without warning. Lothíriel nearly fell back, but he bent too, catching her.

"I still look out for him," Éothain said. It was just as well, for his line had covered up the muffled sound from the back of her throat—a stifled scream from her fright at the fall. The man's face was only inches from hers. "And I protect him from anyone that would hurt him. _Anyone._"

He emphasized his last word, and in a moment, pulled Lothíriel to her feet again. It was again time for her to curtsy, and she did so on shaky legs. "O-of course," she replied. Words were lost on her, as she could not shake the feeling that Éothain had meant "anyone" to be _her_. "It pleases me that my lord Éomer has someone as loyal as you to protect him," she recovered. "But, surely, there is no one here that would wish your king harm."

The man smiled blandly at her as he bowed. "Surely."

Lothíriel did not speak for the next few moments as they danced, sure that the captain, for some reason, did not like her. Thankfully, he began the next segment of conversation, and this time, his tone was neutral.

"My lord Éomer has spoken of you quite a bit in the past few days," he said as they went for another promenade.

Lothíriel blinked in surprise. "Has he?"

The captain allowed the words to hang in the air until they turned to face each other once more. "Yes. Especially when my lady supposedly fought off two Orcs, both twice her size. That must have been a difficult day for a princess."

Lothíriel wanted to blow out her breath and stop dancing with this fine young captain, whose words did not seem to reflect his thoughts. Why was he so interested in her? And really, if she was interested in Éomer, what then?

"It was," she said, her voice slightly harsher than she wished. There was a silence between them, then, and when Lothíriel turned back to curtsy once more, she thought his expression seemed almost sympathetic. "I am sorry," she said. "It is silly of me to complain of just one such event when you spend your life fighting those creatures."

Éothain bowed as they continued their dance. "It is not 'silly,'" he said. "I have seen those creatures kill grown men, trained to fight. What you did was not a small task, my lady."

If she had not wanted to back out of the conversation before, she desperately did now. "Please," she said. "I do not wish to speak of such things. I know that the threat of Orc raids are still high in your lands, but the fear of that fight is still too near for me." She turned about, walking behind the captain and dancing as they spoke. "Forgive me. You must think me a coward."

"Nay," Éothain said as they came together. "I think you brave and beautiful. You must have many suitors here in Gondor."

What was he getting at? Why was he so strange in his conversation? Lothíriel almost wished she was dancing with Lord Belegorn so as to avoid this captain. "No," she admitted. "On the contrary. My father would have me married on the morrow, but I will not have it so."

The man raised an eyebrow. This was clearly not the answer he was expecting. "You mean you do not wish to be married? Or perhaps the right man has not come along?"

Lothíriel could not help but snort. The brusque way of the Rohirrim, both in their king and this captain, seemed to rub off on her whenever she was near them. "Perhaps the first," she answered. "Perhaps the second. All I am aware of is that I am not ready to be married."

"Never have I heard that from a woman," Éothain said, and for the first time, she saw a genuine smile on his face.

"There is a first for all things," she spoke quietly. She saw her opportunity, at that time, to turn the questions on him. "And what of you, Captain Éothain? This conversation has been woefully one-sided. Are you married and have you any children?"

Though the captain seemed slightly taken aback, Lothíriel could tell he was pleased to speak of his family. "I am happily married, though my wife did not ride with us, for she is with child. Our first." The princess was sure he seemed to stand a little taller at the mention of his wife and child. It made her smile—too often, she had heard her brother Elphir complain of his "chains" keeping him from drinking and celebrating with his brothers and his men.

"Congratulations," she said genuinely. "Has she said if she knows it is a boy or girl? Sometimes women in Dol Amroth say they can—"

"Yes," the captain said, understanding her meaning. "There are midwives in the Riddermark that do so as well." He looked her in the eye and smiled again as they danced. "I have said to all those who wish to guess the sex of my child to take their quackery elsewhere, for I shall be happy as long as my wife and child are healthy."

She began to wonder if she was going to like this captain after all. "The most important things," she replied. "I am glad that you are aware of them. Not all men are so wise, you know."

Éothain bowed once more as the song came to an end. "I am glad I pass my lady's test," he said. Lothíriel smiled again, but another thought passed through her mind as she did. _Did I pass yours_?

"Since I enjoy your company so much, will you dance another bout with me?" she asked, surprised even at herself. This was the first time she had ever asked a man to dance—something that would have sent her governess swooning. Even Éothain seemed slightly taken aback, but at this point, she did not care.

_Why should men be the only ones who get to choose their dancing partners_? She thought to herself, then immediately stopped. This hero thing with the Orc-slaying was getting to her head. Because she had killed two Orcs, did she now think she was a man?

"Of course," the captain said, breaking her train of thought. He held out his hand, and they began a slower song that forced them to dance closer together. They were quiet for a few moments, which allowed Lothíriel to study the man. Éothain was tall, though not as tall as his liege lord, and broad of shoulder. His green eyes were piercing and held behind them a great intelligence that Lothíriel could not fathom. "How do you like my Lord Éomer?"

The question caught her off guard—it was quite blunt, even for the Rohirrim. "How do you mean, my lord?" she asked carefully, wiling to give nothing away.

"I mean exactly that," Éothain's gaze cut through her like a knife, leaving no room for bluffing.

Her mind turned to the kiss she and Éomer had shared only the night before, and she blushed, almost believing the captain could read her thoughts. She turned away, but they both knew that Éothain had seen her reddening cheeks. "Well enough, my lord," she said quickly to divert her thoughts.

She probably looked like a right idiot, blushing the way she did before this Rohirrim soldier, but this thought only made her blush harder.

When she dared to look up, she saw a strange expression on the captain's face. "Be careful, my lady," he said, his voice low. "King Éomer has not had much luck with women." She furrowed her brow without realizing what she was doing.

"I do not appreciate your implications," she said, her voice becoming cold. Éothain had completely overstepped his bounds as a friend and courtier and was positively hinting at her and his king's personal life.

The captain's expression became unreadable once more. "I apologize, my lady," he said, bowing. "I did not mean to offend, only to speak the truth."

But Lothíriel had heard enough. She could understand concern from friendship. She could even understand dislike for herself, but she could not excuse obvious breach of personal respect. "You assume too much, my lord captain. It would be wise of you to take more caution when you speak." She had stopped dancing, and she could feel eyes beginning to turn on her.

Quickly, she stepped away from the man and moved to her place at the high table once more. Thankfully, the seats around her were mostly empty, as their occupants were now busy dancing. She did not wish to speak to anyone at the moment, so hot was her anger burning within her.

_Who does he think he is_? The thought raced through her mind. _Does he think the Rohirrim King and I lovers? Why? And does he mean to scare me away form his friend? Of all the meddlesome things to do_!

She fumed silently, crossing her arms as she stared at the half-empty wine glass before her. She remained there, brooding on the conversation she just had.

* * *

_Hope you are all enjoying the fic! :) Please leave me a review with your thoughts! _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

"How now, my lady? Why so sad?"

Lothíriel looked up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Standing next to her, despite all of her father's efforts, it seemed, was Lord Belegorn. The princess wanted to do a very un-lady-like thing and throw up her hands in exasperation. "A beautiful woman such as yourself should not be alone on a night of celebration. Will you not dance with me?"

The man's nasally intonations made Lothíriel grind her teeth in frustration. "Forgive me, my lord," she said, sure that she was mustering all the patience in Middle-Earth. "I am feeling quite unwell so you will excuse me if I do not dance."

Belegorn did not make an action as if to move away, however. "Come now, my lady," he said, giving her a nauseating smile. "I have heard that I am a great remedy to a lady's ills. My touch shall be like a balm and my kiss a salve to all your woes."

_Sweet Eru, spare me,_ Lothíriel nearly rolled her eyes in irritation. "I am sure my lord has the best intentions," she said, once more focusing on her wine glass so that she did not lose her temper. "My head pains me a great deal, and I fear dancing will only make it worse." She looked now to the man, as she was sure she had her emotions under control.

She was wrong.

The expression on Belegorn's face was a mix of anger and frustration, reminding her of a spoiled child who was denied his favorite toy. She had to look away, not sure if she was about to laugh or scream. "You _must_ dance with me!" he cried, all but stomping his foot in his petulance. "You may not be privy to this information, but your father intends on us to be wed!"

This was just too much. Lothíriel rose from where she sat, tired suddenly of the way that she had been treated by Éothain, by Belegorn, by the boy in the healing house and even by her own father. The men around her, for too long, had dictated her life or put her off as only a beautiful face, a warrior princess, or a means to her father's pocketbook.

She was not a symbol or statue for others to look upon. She had endured their gaze and their control for the past twenty-two years of her life, but for some reason, she was only now growing tired of it. "My dear Lord Belegorn," she said, her voice tinged with acid. "It matters not what you discussed with my father. Will you be marrying him?"

She watched as his eyes widened in anger. But before he could open his mouth, she continued. "No. It is I you wish to marry, and I will tell you now that I find you as marriageable as a sack of suet. Indeed, sir, I would not marry you if you were the last man on this earth."

Lothíriel left the man sputtering in protest as she stalked form the great hall, ready to go to bed and forget the happenings of the day.

* * *

She made it about three-quarters of the way to the door when another voice sounded behind her. "Where are you going, my lady Lothíriel?" It was the Rohirrim King's voice—funny how she already recognized it, even though she had only known the man for two days. "You cannot be tired already. The festivities are just beginning!"

The princess, once more, felt annoyance build within her. Here was another man telling her what to do and how to behave—really, she could not take much more. But her training overcame her annoyance and she turned to sink into a curtsy. "Forgive me, Your Grace," she said, not looking up at the man. "I am afraid I am feeling unwell. Pray, excuse me for this evening."

Then, before he could stop her once more, she turned and left the great hall a quickly as possible.

* * *

Éomer was nursing a glass of wine when he bumped into Éothain for the second time that night. The latter, too, was holding a glass of wine, but judging from the look on his face, Éomer guessed he would much rather have been drinking a tankard of ale. But they were in Gondor and guests must drink what their hosts provided them.

"Hail, brother," Éomer greeted his friend in their own tongue. "How goes your evening? Are the festivities treating you well?"

Éothain tried hard not to wince, causing Éomer to cough into his wine. If it were up to his friend, the king knew, there would be more busty serving wenches and less dancing, though Éothain's eyes had stopped wandering as much after his marriage. His wife was everything the captain could have wished for: she was witty enough to talk back and pretty with thick golden hair and ample hips and breasts.

Éothain had always liked his women to be well-endowed, but Éomer found he preferred women that were slenderer.

"Well enough," his friend said. "I did get to dance with the Lady Lothíriel, which is always an honor." Éothain was looking pointedly at him.

_Why did I ever confess that I found the woman interesting? _Éomer silently lamented. It was as if both Éowyn and Éothain were reading into his words. "She did not seem to like you," he said, a little annoyed at his friend. "She left during the middle of your dance."

His friend nodded. "I am afraid I offended the lady," he said contritely. "But it does not mean she mislikes me. Indeed, she asked me for a second dance."

The king could feel his annoyance rising. He, himself, had only gotten to dance one bout with the lady, and he had spent significantly more time with her. What did it mean that she—"She asked _you_?" he suddenly realized.

The captain nodded. "Aye. She is a bold one," he answered, shrugging. "But of course, that is not to be unexpected. She did kill two Orcs. The only other woman that I know that has slain any of the beasts is your sister, and my lady Éowyn has a heavy dose of boldness within her."

Éomer sipped his wine. "What did you say to offend her?"

His friend shrugged once more. "Will you have the truth or shall I lie to you?" he asked. "Either way, you shall be displeased with me, I fear."

The kings' annoyance was only building. "Out with it, man!" he roared, shocking a few noble ladies near them. He ignored them and kept his attention on his captain, who seemed perfectly at ease as he sipped his own wine. "Do not think I will not punish you just because you are my friend," Éomer warned. "I may not have your head, but I can put you on stable duties for the rest of the year."

That was enough to elicit a disgusted look from Éothain. He sighed and muttered, "Perhaps your name was mentioned."

"What?!" The ladies near them gave him an evil look and walked away, huffing.

"Perhaps I asked her if she liked you," his friend continued.

"What?!" he was holding his wine glass so tightly, he was surprised it did not shatter in his hands. "Why in Bema's name would you do that?"

The other man blinked innocently as he peered around them. The glittering ballroom that the Great Hall had been made into was positively buzzing, and no one noticed the two men standing in the corner. "Éomer, I shall be blunt," the captain said. "Your experience with women has not been the best." Before the king could interject, the man held up a hand to silence him and plowed forward. "Your council is about to go mad with the fear that you will be a bachelor forever, and frankly, the Riddermark needs a queen."

Had they not been in polite company, Éomer would have grabbed the man by the collar. "I do not need you to meddle in my affairs," he spoke through clenched teeth. However, he knew the necessity of finding a queen soon. It was not so much that Éomer needed help ruling the realm, but that the dowry that came with the bride was the only hope of feeding his people this winter.

It was one of the main reasons for his visit to Minas Tirith, though even his sister and Aragorn did not know of his need. Like a beggar coming in disguise, he was here to find a rich Gondorian noble woman who would not mind the open country and the smell of horses.

"You must be married, and soon, my friend," Éothain said, his tone serious. "The Lady Lothíriel meets your requirements. She is of the right age, and her father is rich enough to provide enough to last the Riddermark another year or two at the very least. Enough time to get our farmers back on their feet."

The king was glad, then, that they were speaking in their own tongue.

"She is fair, and…" Éothain paused. "She has her own mind. Not just a witless yay-sayer as some others. You will like her."

_I already do, _the other man thought against his will.

Éomer put his glass down with purpose. "I do not need you to find me a wife, 'Thain," he said, his voice tinged with steel. "I can go about my own business well enough."

The other man held up his palms in a token of peace. The look on his face, however, suggested that he knew more than he was letting on. Though he hated to admit it, Éomer knew the other man was right. While he did not know if Lothíriel would ever consent to leaving Gondor, he knew at least that she did not mind riding, that she had a wit faster than Firefoot's gallop, and she was one of the prettiest maids he had ever laid eyes on.

His thoughts wandered to their kiss.

He had been too forward, and she had run. But for a moment, just one moment, he had thought she kissed him back.

But he could not marry her.

Not like this, as a beggar with ulterior motives. Bema, she deserved better than that. But really, if anyone fit the description of his purposes, she could not have been more perfect.

"Well then fare you well in your 'business,' my friend," the captain said as Éomer looked up at him from his glass. "I can see when I am not needed. But do not say I did not let you know of how well the Lady Lothíriel would fit in your plans."

The king only ground his teeth in annoyance.

* * *

_New chapter! :) Please let me know your thoughts. I always love hearing back from you! What do you think of Eothain? Is he being too meddlesome? _


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

The next day found Lothíriel mired in the account books of Dol Amroth and her father's castle. While her brothers and father had been away at war, she had been in control of the comings and goings of their house and city. Though she had had no formal training in bookkeeping other than her lessons in figures as a lass, she found she caught on quickly, and it was rather satisfying to make the numbers work for her, especially if they were more positive than negative.

That had not been the case during the War of the Ring, but now that they were again at peace, her father's granaries and smoke houses were again being filled to weather the next storm.

Usually, the work involved her sitting alone amidst a stack of receipts, counting off what had been received, who had done the payments, and what had been shipped off. Today, however, she was joined in the large study near the Great Hall by Éowyn, who had brought her own stack of parchment to do her duty to Ithilien.

"How goes the copper counting?" she greeted Lothíriel as she set down her books and a cup of ale. This was not one of Éowyn's favorite chores, and she liked to strike up conversation to distract herself. Luckily, Lothíriel found that talking did not affect her ability to manipulate figures.

"Well," she answered, re-dipping her quill. "The grain from our country sides are beginning to come in, and the shipments have been more than expected. I suspect we will have a good harvest. You?"

The Rohir made a face. "I will let you know when I do," she said, opening her ledger and picking up the first page from her stack.

The two sat in silence for some time, calculating, and Lothíriel found that due to the relative ease with which she could add and subtract the numbers before her, her mind had started to wander.

She thought back to the night before, to Belegorn's ridiculous notion that he could have her at his beck and call simply because he thought her father had consented to an engagement. Then back to Éothain's rude comment about herself and his king. How was it his business at all?

This thought brought her back to the mood that she had been in last night, and she again resented being treated as an object of admiration or of marriage. She was a person, Eru damn it, and she would not be treated as less.

"Éowyn, have you ever wished you were born a man?" she asked suddenly.

The other woman blinked at her from over her books, her expression slightly astonished. "Well, of course," she said. "All through my girlhood and until this past year. I still wish it at times, and I am sure I will wish it again when this one comes into the world." She indicated her belly, which was barely protruding. "Why do you ask?"

"Because…" Lothíriel paused, the words failing her. No. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, but she was not sure Éowyn would understand. "Because men are people."

At this, the other woman's look could only be described as perplexed.

Lothíriel grasped for more words. "Men are measured for what they can do. The clever ones become scholars. The strong ones become knights. The ones that have particular gifts for wood working on short notice become palace carpenters." Éowyn smiled at the last reference to all the furniture that had been re-ordered when everything even remotely heavy had been used as part of the barricade during the War and as firewood directly after. "But us. We are merely wives to these men, and we are the lucky ones because we are noble born. We get titles such as 'lady' and 'princess,' but in the end, we are destined to be no more than wives."

Anger was entering her tone now, but she did not care. "What of the women with particular gifts? We still are remembered as 'and wife' on our tombstones," she added. "I… I want more."

She looked back at Éowyn only to find a pitying expression on the other woman's face. "Our world does not work that way," she sighed, putting a hand on Lothíriel's shoulder from across the table. "Glory and fame are not for us to have. We must carve out the small pieces of happiness we can have."

The princess stared long and hard at her friend. "But 'Wyn, you are one of the few of use who _has _had that privilege. You defeated the Witch King! Your line in the history books has been set in ink. You will not merely be remembered as Éomer's sister or Faramir's wife, but Éowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan!"

Her friend looked to the ground before meeting her eyes once more. "But at what cost, Lothíriel? I broke my brother's heart. I followed a silly dream of a little girl, and now I am grown and see my folly."

Lothíriel wanted to take Éowyn by the shoulders and shake her. Surely, her strong-willed, bull-headed friend could not see her greatest moment –nay, perhaps the greatest moment for all women – as something to be ashamed of? "You did what no man could," she argued. "You proved yourself as worthy as any of them in battle!"

Éowyn smiled again. "I did. It was all that I had ever wanted, and still, I was not happy." She bent down again and looked at her work. "Strange that for a shieldmaiden of Rohan, I have found happiness in being a wife and soon-to-be-mother."

The other woman sighed loudly. "So is that it? You are saying that as women, our greatest happiness is not in glory but in being what we are told to be?"

The Rohir furrowed her brow. "Not at all, Lothíriel," she said. "On the contrary. We will never be happy doing only what we are told. I was not as a girl, for I was told I was to be nothing but second best to my brother. I had to come to a conclusion on my own. I had the opportunity that was given to men, but I found that my happiness was in being a wife." She paused. "You, however, seem quite unhappy with what has been laid out for you."

Lothíriel grit her teeth. "Perhaps I have become bold after stepping into your shoes for a change," she said simply.

Éowyn smiled. "Then fight for what you want, Lothi," she said. "I will support you even if no one else will. I know what it was like to be the one that was different." She paused once as if thinking. "But know that it will not be easy. There will be many in your path who want to stop you. You will have to persevere and even break one of the many rules that keep you prisoned."

The other woman turned back to her scratchings, thinking over what her friend had just said. In her mind, she was forming a plan.

* * *

After updating the books and seeing that they were in order, Lothíriel went to check in with her father. Imrahil liked knowing the happenings of the city, and her findings would please him. Dol Amroth was finally getting back to its prosperity from before the War. At this time, he would be holding court in place of King Elessar; many issues that the smaller courts of the city could not solve would be brought before him, but not those so big that they required the attention of the King.

Still, Minas Tirith was beginning to prosper once more, and Lothíriel knew that soon, her family would be able to go back home to Dol Amroth. While King Elessar was a good king, he was still new to his station, and that was why her father had had to stay in Minas Tirith for so long.

Knowing the proceedings of court, she knew she would have to dodge between those angered about taxes and complaining of the continued influx of refugees. Every day, more and more people found their way into the city, even though it was nearly a year since the War of the Ring. It seemed that despite the achievement of peace, there was still unrest with periodic Orc raids in the country side.

Many farmers had found their lands destroyed upon return to their homes, and so, they sought refuge and new livelihoods in the city of Minas Tirith.

It was not easy, for despite all being from the same country, Gondorians had many different customs and traditions depending on where they were from. There were even men and women who wished to enter from South Gondor. Though their lords had become allies with Mordor, the common people there were just as desolate and poor as those in the areas surrounding Minas Tirith after their lands were raided.

These men and women, Lothíriel had seen, were the most hated and feared, for it was apparent their differences from their looks. With darker skin and eyes, they were easily identified, and many shops had placed signs on their windows with the words, "No Southerlings Allowed."

King Elessar and her father had tried to be fair.

There had probably been twenty laws passed in just the last month regarding the prohibition of discriminatory actions toward these people.

"All men and women of Gondor shall be allowed to use the rivers and seas of the land without impedance, given that they are acting in accordance with the law, regardless of beliefs, customs, or place of origin," was one such law that she remembered her father penning just a few weeks ago. It had come about after a group of men had tried to ban a group of women and children seeking refuge from South Gondor from stepping off their boat to enter Osgiliath.

She made her way to the Great Hall from a back entrance, still carrying the large ledger book and left it with one of her father's counsellors when she saw the amount of people gathered. She had no desire to be seen at the moment; public appearances always exhausted her.

As she had finished earlier than she had planned, she had a few free hours before she was due to work once more at the Houses of Healing. It was not enough time to enact her plan and too much time to speak with anyone else about it, so she decided to wile away the few hours in one of her favorite places: the libraries of Minas Tirith.

As a child, she would run through the shelves of scrolls, often irritating the librarians until they realized they could quiet her with a particularly good book. She knew what she needed now, and when she reached the libraries, she went directly for the oldest histories.

The libraries were located on the seventh pinnacle, close to the Houses of Healing, and she merely smiled at the guard at the entrance to be let in. Unlike many of the other buildings on the seventh pinnacle, the library was rather unassuming. Though it appeared a drab, grayish building from the front, the inside was where the treasure lay.

Lothíriel was hit with the familiar scent of paper upon entering, and she moved with practiced ease through the stacks. There were shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls that seemed to have no order to them whatsoever, but she had been here enough times to know the secret system that the librarians kept. Each book and scroll had its own place, and to misplace a book or scroll was to bring the wrath of the head librarian, Iaurdis.

Now was not the time for the great love story of Beren and Lúthien – of course, she had always loved that story, but she did not want romance or love right now.

"Ah, here we are," she said to herself under her breath as she pulled out the aged tome from the shelf. The book would have to be copied over soon, she realized. It was raggedy around some of the pages, and the binding was coming loos. Some of the ink was barely legible on the cover. However, the pile of dust on its eaves told her that no one had read the book in a very long time.

Despite the musty smell that assaulted her when she opened the book, Lothíriel settled herself in one of the large, lumpy seats that had probably been cleaned some time in the last century. Slowly, she lost herself in the history and began to forget the troubles around her.

* * *

_And... that's it for today! I know some of you were hoping just for a fluffy romance between Lothi and Eomer, but I have to add some political calculation into this story. After all, this is a story about Lothiriel and her coming of age. __So hold onto your britches! _


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

"The Life and History of Lady Haleth[1]. Is it any good?"

The voiced startled the woman, and she bolted up from where she was sitting.

"Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you."

Éomer was looking at her curiously from over her book. He was standing before her, a little off to the side, his head cocked slightly, as if studying the book in her hand.

"It is fine," she answered quickly, closing the book, as she tried to use one hand to smooth her dress. She had been curled up in the seat, in the most unlady-like of seated positions, with her back against one armrest, her feet over the other, and the book in her lap.

She remembered, suddenly, that she was in the library, though she was not sure how long she had been there. A good book could always do that to her. "I am sorry, my lord. I did not see you," she said stupidly. She paused. "What time is it?"

Éomer gave a small laugh. "So it was a good book."

She smiled sheepishly. "Yes. One of my favorites. She was a great Chieftan among men in the First Age and led her people through many lands. Her story is one of valor and courage."

The man raised his eyebrow. "A woman as a leader of men?"

The disbelief and tinge of scorn in his voice was all it took to raise the woman's hackles. "Yes, and she was a great one at that," she stated defiantly. "Unfortunately for both women and men, there are not enough stories like hers in the history books." She pushed past the man, clutching the book to her chest and walking as quickly as possible.

* * *

She marched through to the front tables, waved the book at the bewildered clerk there to indicate she was borrowing it, and walked through the streets, directly to her room.

It took everything in her not to slam the door behind her, and she flung the book onto her bed. Pacing around her quarters, she clenched her fists and gave a frustrated cry.

Of course he would find Lady Haleth an object of scorn. Of course he would think a woman as Chieftain to be something laughable. Why would he think any differently than everyone else around her?

Why, indeed, would he think differently than _she_ just did a short while ago?

And yet, she wished, irrationally, that he did, because he had been so easy to talk to, so receptive to the other things she had said to him.

Why did it make her so angry?

"Ugh!" she cried in frustration again and flopped onto her bed, covering her eyes with one arm.

She lay like that for a good while, seething under herself, willing herself to stop being angry. When she finally felt more civilized, she remembered to check the time, and found that she had been reading for so long, she had missed her noon meal. She was in no way hungry, but she realized that was was nearly due to go to the Houses of Healing.

She changed into a plainer dress of white cotton and put her hair beneath a white cap.

She looked down once more at the book. Perhaps she would never lead her people like Lady Haleth, but at least she could make some changes in the lives of men, albeit small. She would work as a healer and try to serve her people that way. But still, in the back of her mind, she continued to think, "Why can I not do more?"

* * *

She spent the next few days as far away from Éomer as she could. She spent most of her time in the Houses of Healing, and when she was not there, she took her meals in her room and read there. She hoped that by not seeing the king of Rohan for a while, she would forget about him, but she found herself stuck in daydreams of the man.

On the third evening of her trying to avoid the world, Éowyn and Arwen were at her door, and with them was a good bottle of red wine[2].

"Well, hello Lady Hermit," Éowyn greeted her as soon as she opened the door. "We were wondering where you had been." She did not wait for Lothíriel to invite her in but pushed past the woman and sat on her bed, setting the bottle of wine on the bedside table.

Arwen entered behind the woman and took a more dignified seat in the armchair next to the bed. She leaned over and set down three glasses, which she had been holding. "The entire court has, in fact," she added to Éowyn's statement. "Especially a certain Rohirrim." She gave the other woman and small smile the annoyed her to no end.

When Lothíriel merely rolled her eyes at the queen's statement, Éowyn raised an eyebrow at the elf. Lothíriel tried to busy herself by trying to find something to uncork the bottle.

"I am sorry, I have been busy," she said as she popped the cork off the bottle. "There are the Houses of Healing, and I have been managing the books for Dol Amroth. We have not yet found a suitable steward since before the War, and I have been managing the books for so long, that my father seems to have forgotten about a need for one. Unfortunately, I cannot always be up to date on my social calendar."

She poured out three healthy glasses before siting down on the bed with Éowyn and taking a large gulp from her glass.

"Ho there, that is not water," Éowyn commented, seeing her friend.

"Is there something wrong, Lothíriel?" Arwen asked, furrowing her smooth brow.

The woman took in a deep breath. "Nothing," she said, putting a smile on her face before standing up to be away from her suffocating friends. She walked toward her desk with her wine glass. " 'Wyn, what about you? How are you and the child? How is Faramir taking it all?"

"Fine and fine," the Rohir said dismissively. "But something is wrong, Lothi. What is going on with this … thing … between you and my brother?"

Lothíriel set the wine glass down forcefully on her desk before closing her eyes briefly. "There is _not_ a … thing… between your brother and me."

She looked up and saw that the other woman's mouth was a thin line. "Then you must let my brother know, for Éomer is under quite another impression." That only made Lothíriel scowl, and she made a conscious effort to leave her wine glass alone. She was not doing well at controlling her temper recently, and she knew the wine would only make her more volatile.

Arwen, however was more sympathetic. "Come now, Éowyn. If Lothi does not wish to speak about her feelings, then we should let her be."

The Gondorian breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Arwen." But she had spoken too soon.

"She is obviously not interested in what the king of Rohan has to say about her," the queen continued and smiled placidly at the princess.

Despite the obvious bate, Lothíriel could not help herself. "He has been speaking of me?"

Arwen and Éowyn exchanged a glance that the other woman could not read, and Éowyn cocked her head to once side in an all too familiar fashion. It was clear she and Éomer were related. "Oh, only to myself and at times Éothain. You know how those two to are as thick as thieves." She paused, basking in the agonizing silence as Lothíriel waited for her to continue.

"But you are not interested, after all," Arwen said, waving away the other woman. "Éowyn, how goes your pregnancy?"

Lothíriel threw up her hands and almost cursed out loud, but her training as a princess would not allow her descend to such a low point. "Alright, stop it!" she cried. "What has he said?"

The grin on Éowyn's face resembled that of a cat who had just drunk cream. "Are you sure? I mean I may have felt a quickening last night. It is still early, but –"

"Éowyn!" the princess looked as if she were about to strangle the other woman. Arwen and Éowyn burst into laughter.

"We are just teasing, Lothi," the Queen said good-humoredly.

"We were going to tell you regardless," the Rohirrim woman said. She moved over from her place on the bed and patted the space next to her. "Now come sit and let us be friends again." Reluctantly, the princess sat next to her, her face still a storm cloud of annoyance.

"He has said to me that you are a remarkable woman," Éowyn continued. "And that, unlike many Gondorian woman, you have some mettle."

Lothíriel paused, but the other woman said no more. After another moment, she blinked. "That was it?"

Éowyn snorted in a very un-lady-like manner. "Impatient, are we not?" she chided. "He also spoke of your wit, and a book you introduced to him. He has found _The Life and History of Lady Haleth_ both interesting and educational."

That stopped the other woman in her thoughts. "He is reading _The Life and History of Lady Haleth_?" She raised an eyebrow.

Éowyn nodded. "More like devouring. I have never seen my brother go through a tome of that size so quickly." At the unreadable expression on her friend's face, she sobered. "What _that_ book, Lothi?"

The princess looked down at her hands and then from Arwen to Éowyn. She was not sure how to feel. To hear that Éomer had read the book make her heartbeat quicken. "Have you realized that in all the histories and legends of Middle-Earth, Lady Haleth is one of the only women that is spoken about outside of her husband?"

Arwen's gave her a small smile. "If I remember correctly, that is because Lady Haleth never took a husband."

However, Lothíriel did not smile back. "Exactly!" she said, throwing up her hands. She bit her lip as she tried to explain the thoughts that were swirling through her mind. "I have been thinking these past few days about our role as women. Other than mothers and wives, what are we?"

Neither of her friends answered her, but looked on with sober expressions, realizing that they were no longer jesting.

"Éowyn, I spoke of this with you before. We are 'and wife.' That is it. That is how men see us. I want more!" Lothíriel cried. She realized that she had somehow gone from sitting to standing once more. "I do not want a husband who will see me as nothing but a vessel for his children!"

When her outburst was over, she realized that her friends were staring at her. Had they not been well-trained, Lothíriel suspected they would have been open-mouthed, but she did not care. She realized, now, why she had been so resistant to her father's proposed matches for herself – all those men, Lord Belegorn included, only saw her as an "and wife," never for who she truly was.

"What is it you wish, Lothi?" Arwen asked kindly. However, her expression belied her disconcertion with what the princess had just said.

Lothíriel took a deep breath. "I want to be my own person." These were the words that had been inside of her all along, words she had dared not utter as the daughter of Prince Imrahil. "I want to pursue my won dreams, to become a healer. And… and if I do marry, I want to do it on my terms, to someone who will not object to me doing what I will."

She stopped to see how her words would affect her friends. Both of them still appeared stunned. Éowyn was sitting on her bed, her hand grasping her wine glass tightly. Arwen was still sitting before her in her armchair, and to those that did not know the Queen, they would have thought her expression rather placid. However, Lothíriel could read in her eyes that she was bothered by what she had said.

Too well she remembered Erchirion telling her that it would be impossible for her to become a healer, that it was not something royal women did. Was that what her friends were thinking as well?

"Have you told this to your father?" Éowyn finally asked.

It was not the response that Lothíriel wanted. "How can I?" she thundered, beginning to pace the length of her room once more. "He knows I want to be a healer, but how can I possibly ask that? He wants me married, and strategically, to benefit Dol Amroth. How would he take it if I told him this?"

Her rage made her friends silence again, and she realized that they had probably never expected anything like this from her. Lothíriel, who until this day had been poised, quiet, and dutiful.

But where was this all coming from? Had her bout with the Orcs really given her the courage of a warrior?

"You could still be a healer and married, Lothi," Éowyn finally said. "The Houses need you."

The other woman ground her teeth. "I do not want to remain as a nurse, helping when I can," she stated emphatically. She knew, now, the deep seat of her discontent. " I want to head the Houses. I want to pronounce and diagnose ailments, not just follow the orders of others."

She sat suddenly on her bed, tired, as if deflated from all the effort she had just put into speaking her mind. The silence in the room was enough to tell her what her friends thought of her desires, and slowly, she could feel tears welling in the corners of her eyes. The room blurred around her, and she pulled out her handkerchief from her pocket to dab at the tears.

"Oh, Lothíriel," the elf said, standing and coming to her. She placed her hands on the other woman's cheeks, and wiped away her tears with her thumbs. Her dark eyes bore into Lothíriel's. "Is this really what you want?"

The woman nodded silently. How many times had she envied the position of the healers? To be listened to by her charges instead of dismissed? How many times had she made the correct diagnosis only to have the credit be given to one of the arrogant healers' apprentices?

"Then send them an application," Arwen said softly.

"What?" the woman could not believe what the elf was saying. It had actually been her plan all along.

"Every healers' apprentice must apply for the position," the queen said. "With a letter of recommendation. Only then can they enter into the five-year apprenticeship."

By this time, Éowyn, too, had come up to where the other two were standing. "But, Arwen, a woman has never been accepted as a healers' apprentice. The master healers are all men, and the only women in the Houses serve as helpers."

Lothíriel could have sworn she saw Arwen purse her lips. "You of all women must understand what it means to be the first, Éowyn," she said calmly. "No woman before you had slain a Nazgûl." She turned back to face Lothíriel, her expression serious. "If you write an application, Lothíriel, I would be more than happy to write your letter of recommendation. They cannot deny the Queen of Gondor."

The other woman's heart leaped in her chest and she gave Arwen a warm embrace at these words. But her soul was only free for a moment before reality again began to set back in.

"I cannot apply, Arwen," she said, reining in her moment of happiness. "If I send the Houses an application, the first thing they will do is ask my father, if he finds out, he will be livid." She bit her lower lip and turned away from the elf. "It is a silly dream."

But the queen was persistent. She stepped around to face the princess once more. Her normal placid expression was replaced by one of determination. The stone walls behind her only offset her black hair, and Lothíriel was struck by her beauty.

"It is not silly," she said, her voice firm. "We are in a new age, Lothíriel. Change is upon us. Things are not as the used to be. Submit your application. We shall speak to your father together."

Slowly, Lothíriel nodded before turning to face Éowyn. A small smile was playing on her lips.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I was just thinking," Éowyn said. "Perhaps you will be writing your name in the history books after all. And it will be much more than just 'And Wife.'"

* * *

[1] From _The Silmarillion._ Lady Haleth (FA 341 – FA420) was the daughter of Haldad and twin sister of Haldar. After her father and twin brother were slain in an Orc raid, Haleth became Cheiftain of the Haladin. She kept her people alive for seven days while the Orcs laid siege to the encampment, until Lord Caranthir arrived with reinforcements.

She then led her people o the Forest of Brethil to dwell in safety.

[2] Obviously, it was not yet known that drinking alcohol during pregnancy can lead to fetal deformities.


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you to everyone that pointed out my spelling and grammar mistakes. I have been a bit sleep deprived with my day job, and I am trying to write this fic as quickly as it comes to my mind, both so that I don't forget what I have imagined, and also so that you, dear reader, can have access to it. _

_Please excuse any mistakes as that of someone who is working 80 hour weeks. While I do proofread before I upload, I always appreciate others giving this a once over as well! _

* * *

Chapter 12

* * *

The next day, at the Houses of Healing, Lothíriel worked closely with one of the new apprentices to suture a young glassblower's arm. The man had cut it after accidentally slipping and falling into a large stain glass window. She had spent nearly an hour picking out glass shards from the man's right forearm.

The patient had been heavily drugged with opium to help with the pain, as the apprentice began to sew the longest gash with catgut. He was quite good for a beginner, and his stitches were neat and quick. However, his bandaging was sloppy, and she quickly adjusted it when he had left the room.

When she was done with her duties to this patient, she followed the apprentice to the next ward and struck up conversation, pretending to be more interested than she actually was. "That was very good stitching," she said as she walked the white stone hallway. The entirety of the Houses of Healing was made of stone and the walls and floors were marble to create a clean, sterile appearance. Their footsteps echoed. "You must have been very good to become an apprentice."

The boy, for that was what he was, blushed. He could not have been more than eighteen, with mousy brown hair and a bare face. He had wide blue eyes with too long lashes and a straight nose. "Thank you sister," he said.

He was very young.

Not very talkative either.

"I hear very few that apply become apprentices," Lothíriel pressed.

The boy nodded as they began to ascend the stairs. "Yes, I hear every year, the Houses only take ten, and this last year, near a hundred applied."

Lothíriel raised an eyebrow. She had heard that it was difficult to become an apprentice, but did not realize the chances were so low. She hesitated for a moment. "Then I must congratulate you on becoming an apprentice," she said, still trying to press the conversation. "How did you train for such a position?"

The boy raised his eyebrows. "Train?" He hesitated for a moment. "We receive all our training here. I merely come from a good background, sister, and the Head Healer said that from my excellent recommendation and my essay that I was learned and would be easy to train."

_A good background, an excellent recommendation, and an essay_, Lothíriel thought. Was that really all that was needed?

She almost laughed out loud. How were the Head Healers possibly to know who was to be a good healer just from those elements? But if those were the things they wished, she certainly had a good background, and she could get them one of the best recommendation letters they had ever seen.

He rounded a corner, and Lothíriel continued to follow.

"How did you become interested?" she persisted.

The young man glanced at her suspiciously, but did not seem to think there was much harm in answering her questions. "I would help my father at times with our livestock, and he said I was good a helping birth the foals. It seemed like an interesting trade, and so when my uncle came to Minas Tirith, I had him take me an application."

Lothíriel continued to follow him, more intent now on their conversation. "So then anyone can simply take an application?"

The boy nodded. "Oh yes, they are open to anyone who would wish for one. After all, the Houses wish to attract the most talented Healers. You simply ask the registrar at the front office of the apprentice dorms, and they shall hand you one. Or, if they are gone, there are forms on display.

He rounded another corner, and Lothíriel did not follow him. Instead, she turned and almost ran to the front office near the apprentice dorms.

* * *

She stayed up that night, furiously writing her application. The Houses of Healing called for an essay, at least twelve inches, on why she wished to become an apprentice and what her qualifications were. She also needed a letter of recommendation and a page with her name, rank, and current positions.

"Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," she wrote, and hesitated

What in Middle-Earth did she write for the other two inquiries? Princess of Dol Amroth was true, but it did not argue for why she was fit to become a healer.

After chewing the top of her quill for a few more moments, she penned, "Nobility," for rank and "Sister of Healing" for current position. Of course, anyone who was paying attention would see from her name and age who she actually was.

She stared for another moment at the sealed letter of recommendation from Arwen at her desk and turned back to her essay. But really, what qualified her to be a healer?

She thought back to the last few days at the Houses and grimaced. It was necessary to clean linens and latrines and bring medications to the patients, of course, but it was not why she wanted to be a healer.

She wanted to understand the secrets of the human body, to understand how to knit broken bones back together. She wanted to mix her own potions and diagnose others with their ailments. She wanted to deliver an expecting woman, to bring new life into the world.

But most of all, she wanted to bring hope to the dying, to somehow snatch those from the jaws of death. It was an unrealistic desire, of course, to save everyone, but if she could even stop one death, prevent one heart from stopping…

She looked away from the page, realizing that the parchment was wet from a tear.

She had not known how to save her mother. She was too young and stupid to save her from drowning, but if only she had known the healing arts then, she may have saved her.

Suddenly, she knew what to write.

"My mother was the most selfless person I knew…"

* * *

The essay was done at daybreak.

Lothíriel hurriedly rolled the parchments together and sealed them with wax. She did not use her seal, but left the small red smear of wax blank.

Then, with as much speed as she could, for she was afraid that if she waited, she would lose the momentum she had all night and give into exhaustion, she pulled on her slippers and raced out the door.

Only to slam into the tall body of Éomer, who was coming around the corner.

She gave a small scream as the two rolls of parchment flew from her hands and scattered over the floor. Éomer was so solid that she was flung back from the force of hitting him and nearly lost her footing.

"My lady Lothíriel!"

As quick as a cat, the man had caught her around the waist, preventing her from falling. For a moment, she was face-to-face with Éomer's startled blue eyes, her nose nearly touching his.

His body was warm around hers, his arms holding her tightly against his body. For a moment, she felt completely safe, and the worries of the world seemed to fall away.

It was only for a moment, for in that instant, they both realized what a compromising position they were in, and Éomer let her go. Thankfully, her feet touched the ground.

"My lord Éomer, I apologize," she quickly said, averting her eyes. She was afraid she would do something very dangerous indeed if she continued to look into those blue orbs. She could not help but notice how well he looked in his gray tunic, with his golden hair strewn about his shoulders. "I was in a hurry and did not see you."

She raked a hand through her hair to smooth it, and realized suddenly what a mess she must look. She had been up all night, staring at parchment in dim candlelight, and she was still wearing the same wrinkled dress from yesterday. And, by the Valar, when was the last time she had bathed?

Éomer, however, did not seem to notice any of these things as he smiled broadly at her. "You must be careful, my lady. I am beginning to think you get around by running into things. Here, allow me to help you."

He bent down to pick up the parchments, and too late did she realize that she had not given the wax enough time to dry. Her application had sprung open, and her name and intent clearly on display.

"Oh, no, that is quite alright—" she tried to snatch the piece of parchment from the man's grasp, but only succeeded in slapping his hand.

"Oh, Valar, I apologize," she gasped, pulling her hand back. It was only from her training as a princess that she did not immediately put her head in her hands. Somehow, before it was even time for breakfast, she had slammed into the king of Rohan and slapped him.

It was only moments later after her faux pas that she realized that Éomer had picked up the pieces of parchment, which were now open, and was looking down at them.

She felt the air around her go very still.

Time seemed to slow as she watched the man's eyes dart over the page.

For a few moments, he said nothing.

It was then she realized that her heart was at her throat, and she desperately wished that she could rip the parchment away from him. But decorum and frank fear held her back.

"You are applying to be a healer's apprentice?"

Éomer's words finally broke the silence.

She said the only thing she could say. "Yes."

There was a pause, and Éomer seemed to study her for a moment. "I thought you already worked in the Houses of Healing."

She swallowed. "Yes, but only as an assistant."

Slowly, the man handed the parchments back to her, and Lothíriel had to hold herself back from snatching them away from him. "And how long is an apprenticeship?"

She took in a deep breath before answering. "Five years."

There was another pause then. Éomer cleared his throat. "So you will be staying in Minas Tirith for the duration?" There was something strange in his voice, something that she could not quite catch.

Lothíriel began to roll up the parchment once more. "Well, if I am accepted, then yes." For some reason, she could not bring herself to look back up at the man.

She took another breath and finished rolling up the parchment.

"On the first day that we met, I made it seem that I knew the ways and customs of Gondor," Éomer said, and Lothíriel forced herself to face the man once more. His blue eyes were piercing, but unreadable. "But I must admit, there are still many things I must learn about Gondor and Dol Amroth. Is it…" he paused as if searching for the right words. "Is it customary for the princesses of Gondor to complete an apprenticeship?"

Lothíriel's heart felt as if it had sunk into the very pit of her stomach.

What could she say?

Of course it was not customary. Apprenticeships, after all, were for the working class. Noble men and women need not complete an apprenticeship, unless it was to be a squire to a Swan Knight.

If she was not mistaken, it was the same way in Rohan, and that was why Éomer was looking at her as if she had three heads.

"No," she answered curtly.

There was no way to lie to Éomer's honest face, and even if she could lie to him, she knew that sooner or later, it would get back to her father what she was doing. And if her father found out…

… and what if her father found out?

Suddenly, the words came tumbling out of her. Perhaps it was because she had not had any sleep. Perhaps it was because it had been something she had pent up for such a long time. Or perhaps it was because she never seemed to be able to hold anything back when she was with this man.

"It is not customary," she said firmly. "But it is something that I want. It is something that I find worthy to dedicate my life to. And for once in my life, I would like for something to be controlled by me, and not by my father or my brothers."

Éomer stood rooted to the spot, his gaze unwavering.

"I dread so many aspects of my life," she continued. "I dread having to do what I am told. I dread being forced to parade myself in front of suitors chosen by my father, and I especially dread being made to be someone's wife when I have no say in the matter."

She realized that she was raising her voice, and she forced herself to stop, knowing that she was probably scaring the poor man, who had never asked to be there in the first place. She sighed then, realizing that she was both tired and hungry, and that she was taking her frustrations out on the king of Rohan.

"Éomer, I am sorry—" She reached out to touch the man's arm in order to comfort him, but he moved out of her grasp.

"No, I am sorry to be so odious to my lady," the man said. His back was stiff and his jaw was clenched. "I had had a rather different impression about what you thought of me, but now that you have told me the truth, I will make myself scarce."

With that, he turned and strode quickly around the corner.

Lothíriel was too shocked to realize what was happening.

Her addled brain from lack of sleep only understood after a few moments what she had said and what Éomer was doing.

"Éomer, wait!" she cried, but it was too late.

The man was out of earshot.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

He found Éowyn at one of her usual haunts in Minas Tirith. She loved the gardens at the seventh pinnacle and would often wander there.

It was strange to be outside, with the sun shining and the cool spring breeze at his back, but to feel so much darkness in his heart. He stopped by where she was sitting in front a large swath of white flowers that smiled up at the sun.

"A fine chase you have led me on, sister," he greeted her in their own tongue. They knew each other so well that they could usually dispense with niceties.

Éowyn looked up from where she was studying the shape of a rose. "Wáþ?" (Chase?) she answered. "Hwa wáþ?" (What chase?)

He grit his teeth.

He tried to keep his tone light, but failed. "You had me believe a certain lady was… shall we say, interested in more than just friendship." He felt himself gritting his teeth even as he spoke

Éowyn raised an eyebrow when she noticed the muscle working in her brother's jaw. "You mean Lothíriel," she said, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed.

The man nodded, stepping next to his sister and looking toward the tall hyacinths that were growing before them, in front of the white blooms that he could not recognize. The flowers were especially magnificent in the gardens of Minas Tirith, with the purples, pinks, and yellows intermixed before them.

Éowyn let out a loud breath. "If 'chase' is the term that you wish to use, brother, then I will have you know that Lothíriel is quite worth it." She turned to face Éomer, though the man was still staring at the flowers before them. She could feel the anger and frustration flowing off of him, and softened her tone. "What happened?"

"I do not believe you know your friend's mind," he stated.

When he paused, she decided to press further. "She may not speak it aloud, but I know that she is interested in you." He scoffed at that, but Éowyn could see the hurt in his eyes despite his nonchalant attitude. "What exactly did she say to you?"

She watched as her brother took a breath.

"I believe the exact words were, 'I especially dread being made to be someone's wife when I have no say in the matter,'" he said evenly.

When Éowyn said nothing, he turned to face her, only to find that she was quietly laughing into her hands. She was laughing so hard, in fact, that her entire body was shaking.

Éowyn could not help but laugh at the thought of her normally soft-spoken friend standing up to her brother, who was even considered large among his soldiers, and who probably stood head and shoulders above the woman. It was even funnier to think of her shaking her finger and lecturing him. It was rare to find a woman that could handle her brother in such a way. Normally, they all fawned over him because of his titles, and perhaps it was about time he found someone that would do more good for him than just stroke his ego.

"What in Bema's name is so funny?" he finally thundered.

The woman finally found it within herself to stop giggling. "It is just… well…" she was overcome with another fit of laughter before she could stop and get a hold of herself. "Lothíriel has never been someone to stand up for herself—"

"Oh, is that so?" Éomer interrupted sarcastically under his breath.

It was only then that Éowyn stopped smiling. She saw the look on her brother's face, and realized that this was much more serious than she anticipated. "Oh, Bema, Éomer, she did not mean _you, _in particular!"

The man raised an eyebrow at this. "What do you mean?"

The woman made a sound in the back of her throat of discontent. "Will you stop being so self-absorbed and think, for a moment of what she is going through?" When her brother did not answer once more, she stood from where she was sitting before the gardens, and put her hands on her hips. "She grew up in Dol Amroth as a sheltered princess, always being told what to do, and then all of a sudden, the War of the Ring happens, and she is thrust into a position of leadership. The entire time that Gondor was at war, she was left to rule. And she was damn good at it. Why do you think that Dol Amroth, of all places in Gondor, has continued to prosper?

"She finds out all of a sudden that she is smart, that she is good at a lot of things, like healing and writing and mathematics, things that women are not supposed to be good at. Or at least women in Gondor.

"And now that the world is back at peace again, she has been expected to go back to being this demure princess that pretends like she knows nothing. And she is supposed to let her father and brothers make all her decisions for her. It is no wonder that she is trying to find her own life. It is why she has turned down Lord Belegorn. It is why she has applied for an apprenticeship in the Houses of –"

Éowyn gasped before she could finish that sentence, and Éomer would have laughed had he not been so distraught. The woman clasped her hand over her mouth before she could finish. "Nothing. You have heard nothing from me," she said, before rubbing her temples and groaning.

The king smirked. "It is alright. I know about her application to the Houses of Healing."

That sentence caused his sister to look back up at him. "You do?"

Éomer let out a breath before looking out toward the gardens again, trying to maintain his focus. Éowyn had inundated him with things to think about with regards to Lothíriel, and he was not quite sure he had digested them all just yet. "Yes, I believe that she was trying to get there when we had our exchange."

The woman crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Then you also know that the apprenticeship itself is five years long?"

The man nodded silently.

"You are willing to wait five years for her?" Éowyn asked, her voice sincere.

Éomer could feel a cold sweat come over him. "You are presuming a bit much." But he could feel his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. His sister made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat once more.

She looked up at him again and crossed her arms before her chest. Her gray eyes were narrowed now. "I know your mind, Éomer Éadig, even if you are pretending not to," she said crossly. "You like her. She likes you, even though you seem to think differently."

It was the king's turn to growl with discontent. While he loved his sister, she had always had a way of getting under his skin simply because she seemed to be able to put into words exactly what he was thinking. "Even if that is true, you did just say yourself that she is applying for a five year apprenticeship," he countered.

Éowyn threw up her hands in frustration. "Honestly, Éomer, you really are daft," she cried. "Do you think that Minas Tirith is the only place on Middle-Earth that one can train to become a healer?"

That made the man stop in his tracks. "Are you saying that –"

"My lord Éomer?"

Both siblings looked up from their argument. Standing before them was Lothíriel, who looked both embarrassed and exasperated. Éowyn frowned at her friend, who usually dressed neatly and put much effort into her appearance. It was clear from the dark circles under her eyes that she had not slept, and from the wrinkles in her dress, she had been wearing the dress overnight. Her hair was unpinned and tumbled around her shoulders.

The reason for her appearance was obvious; in her hands, she was clutching two large rolls of parchment, one where the wax had not even set.

Seeing the two, the princess quickly dropped into a curtsy. Even in her sleep deprived state, she could not forget decorum.

As Éomer was bowing, Éowyn immediately saw where she was not needed. "Lothíriel, it is good to see you!" she said, plastering a smile on her face. "Unfortunately, I have quite forgotten that I have an appointment with my midwife to discuss what to expect of the pregnancy and birthing process. But we must talk later!"

With almost unhuman-like speed, the woman was gone, leaving Lothíriel to face the king of Rohan by herself.

* * *

_Thank you for your patience, readers. I've had quite a lot of difficulties in my personal life recently, and have not had much time to write. But, I've finally found a job for next year once my current one ends, and things should hopefully be more "smooth sailing" from here on out! _


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

Éomer had not yet figured out all the curse words he would use on his sister before he realized that he had been left alone with the princess. What was more, he had suddenly remembered that he was to meet with Aragorn this morning to discuss re-establishing a trade route from the Snowbourn to Cair Andros.

It had been on the list of things to do for nearly six months now, and finally, a port had been re-established at Cair Andros.

Still, standing before Lothíriel, he had a hard time remembering the task at hand. He found, suddenly, that his mouth was completely dry.

Lothíriel took a breath before facing the man before her. She was unsure why exactly she had run after Éomer the way that she had done, except she could not bear for the man to be angry with her. Now, standing before him, she realized how ridiculous she looked, clutching her application to the Houses of Healing, with her day-old dress and unkempt hair.

"My lord Éomer," she began, willing herself to sound confident. "I apologize for what I said earlier. Forgive me, for I have not had much sleep, and those words were not meant for you."

She curtsied once more before looking back up at the man. He made a step toward her, then hesitated, and she could not blame him. She realized that nearly every interaction they had had was fraught with misunderstanding, and she had more than once shown herself to have a sharp tongue.

He was right to be wary.

But there was something in his eyes that made her want to open up to him, to step closer.

"I am afraid that I have not been myself the last few months," she continued. "Ever since I came to Minas Tirith, I have felt as if I have no control over my own life." She swallowed. "But that does not give me the right to act the way I did with you."

The man took another step toward her, and it was enough to close the gap between the two of them. Lothíriel became keenly aware of his scent and seeming magnetic force that drew her to him. Her heart pounded loudly within her chest, and she could feel her breath coming short.

"It is alright," he said softly, his hand reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. She shivered at the warmth of his touch, and she smiled. "I realize that I overstepped my bounds when it came to finding you at the library and this morning. I should not have been so forward, and I will not be in the future."

His words made sense to her logical mind. They had, after all, only known each other for about a week. And yet, her heart sank at the thought of not seeing Éomer.

"You misunderstand," she said quickly. "I _do_ want to see you. It is just…" She trailed off, trying to find the right words. How could she possibly tell him that every time she was near him, she thought about their kiss and how much she wanted to kiss him again? And yet, at the same time, he made everything confusing. Being with him and letting herself be courted by the King of Rohan meant becoming everything that she thought she wanted to reject. How could one possibly be a queen of a realm and also a healer and her own person? "Every time I see you, you make me question what I want."

Those words did not capture even a quarter of what she was trying to say.

Éomer furrowed his brow. "And what is that you want, my lady?"

Her throat seemed to stick at that question. It made her suddenly realize that no man had ever asked her that question before. Certainly, Éowyn and Arwen had asked her what she wanted just yesterday. But really, when had her father, her brothers, or really, any man asked her what she wanted?

And really, what did she want?

She wanted to be a good daughter, someone that her father could be proud of. But at the same time, she wanted to follow her own path, not to just be married off for the glory of her family. She wanted to become a healer, but her father would never allow that.

The King of Rohan, this man that she had only known for a week, was the first man to ask her that question, and it warmed her heart to him. She smiled then. "I think I did not know until now that what I wanted was for a man to ask me what I want," she stated. "Instead of deciding for me."

Éomer was unreadable. His gazed into Lothíriel's face, at her smile, and seemed to be considering her answer. "I have not known you long, Lothíriel," he said slowly. "But from what I do know of you, you seem to be a woman who knows her mind and is unwilling to back down from what she believes in." He had wanted to say, _And you fascinate me_, but those words died upon his lips.

She gave a small laugh. "I do not believe I know my mind at all," she countered. "One moment, I think I want to apply to be a healer in the Houses of Healing, and the next, after seeing you, I am altogether unsure." _Perhaps it is because you make it hard to even think around you. _

The king looked at her questioningly. "What about me makes you unsure?"

"Let us just say that you would fit very well into my father's plans," she said.

Those words sounded eerily familiar, and he could not help but think back to what Éothain had said to him at the feast. _But do not say I did not let you know of how well the Lady Lothíriel would fit in your plans._

Damn that man. He could see the smarmy smile on his friend's face already.

"And what of your plans, my lady?" he ventured. Now overlaying Éothain's words were his sister's. _She likes you, even though you seem to think differently. _

Lothíriel blushed at Éomer's bold words. She found she was having difficulty concentrating with his hand on her shoulder, and his face so close to hers. She looked down at the parchment in her hand. "There is a reason I have not submitted this application," she said softly.

It was ridiculous, she thought, that she was even considering this. She had known the man for only a week, for Valar's sake. Was she really going to throw away everything she had dreamed of for a man?

She paused for a moment. She had been so focused on herself, that she had not even asked Éomer what he wanted. "And you, my lord?" she ventured. "What of your plans?"

Those words made the man take in a breath, and it was a moment before he could remind himself that Lothíriel could not read minds. After all, she only knew him to be the King of Rohan. For all she knew, he was here to meet with the King Elessar to discuss the trade relations and build their two countries. She knew nothing of his need to marry for his country's sake.

"My plans in coming to Minas Tirith were to re-establish trading routes with Gondor," Éomer admitted truthfully.

Lothíriel looked up at him, and he could see a corner of her mouth tweaking up into a small smile. "Were those your only plans?"

The man did not smile, but his blue eyes seemed to bore into hers. "If you mean other things, my lady, _you_ were certainly not in my plans." That much, at least, was the truth. The Rohirrim did not tell lies. But immediately, he felt guilty about holding back the full truth.

_What would she think, knowing that Rohan now was little more than a war torn, beggar country? _

Lothíriel could feel herself blushing. "Nor you in mine." She paused and bit her lip. Standing here, in front of the gardens, where anyone walking by could see them, she was suddenly aware of how conspicuous they were. They were standing toe to toe, his hand still resting on her shoulder.

"Lothíriel, I have been here for a week. We had planned on staying in Minas Tirith for a fortnight at the most. My country needs me," he said slowly. The next words tumbled from his mouth before he could even think about them. "Would you wish to come with us to Edoras?"

The woman's eyes widened, and Éomer could have kicked himself. It was a ridiculous thing to ask. Surely, a princess like Lothíriel would need more than a week to prepare to travel to a completely different country, one that required almost a fortnight of hard riding. And what was more, he was asking her to leave everything she knew to come with him, a man she had barely known for a week.

"There are healing houses in Edoras, and I am told that they train many apprentices from Rohan," the man continued to speak. He usually did not blather on so, but he wanted desperately to make his request seem more reasonable. "And Éowyn is to return with us for at least a short while."

She could feel her heart racing within her chest again. For a moment, she imagined herself riding to Edoras with Éomer, and she had never wanted anything more in the world.

But reality set in immediately.

How could she possibly leave Gondor and her family? What was more, she had known Éomer for a week. They barely knew each other, really. And how could she explain this all to her father?

"I…" the right words would not come. "I … do not speak Rohirric." It was an idiotic thing to say, but it was the first thought to escape her lips. She could see some the light go out of Éomer's eyes. "I mean, I shall ask my father. I would like to Rohan, but …"

The man shook his head with a small smile. "It was wrong of me ask. You belong here, with your family and your people."

"Éomer, I would like to go," she found herself saying. "I just need to speak with my father."

He liked the way she said his name. His smile widened, and Lothíriel was once again struck by how handsome the king of Rohan was. She smiled in return.

It was only when the large clock tower on the seventh pinnacle struck seven that he suddenly remembered he had other tasks this morning.

"Unfortunately, I must meet with Aragorn this morning," he said with a frown. "Shall I see you tonight during supper?"

She nodded. "Of course. And if you would like, we could walk the gardens again."

"I would like that, my lady," he answered. "Until then, I bid you farewell."

He bent to kiss her hand, and Lothíriel shivered at his touch. In a moment, he was gone, and she keenly felt his absence.

* * *

_Thanks for reading all! I always love reading your reviews. Let me know what you think so far :) _


	15. Chapter 15

_Happy Thanksgiving! _

_I hope everyone had a restful few days. Here is the new chapter. Once again, I appreciate all the feedback, and would love your reviews! _

* * *

**Chapter 15**

* * *

Lothíriel retraced her steps back to her quarters on the seventh pinnacle, still clutching the parchment in her hands. She desperately needed sleep, but she could not stop her mind from thinking back to Éomer.

He had asked her to come to Edoras with him.

She had never been anywhere other than Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith, let alone a different country. Leaving Gondor seemed quite the adventure, and she had never thought of herself to be someone that would have such an adventure.

Yet, her heart fell when she thought of Éomer leaving Minas Tirith without her, and she could feel a deep ache in her chest when she thought of the possibility of not seeing the man.

_What is wrong with you, Lothi_?

She followed the steps back up to the citadels on the seventh pinnacle. The steps were wide and long, and at the very top at the tall white doors were two guards, their helms gleaming in the morning sun.

Before she could re-enter, she saw a familiar figure exiting the citadels. Just above her on the steps was Éothain, captain of the Mark. On his back were several short bows and multiple quivers of arrows.

He noticed her at the same time that she saw him.

_Valar above, why now? _She could not help but grind her teeth in irritation. She immediately thought back to their one and only interaction on the dance floor on the first day that the Rohirrim arrived. She was not in the correct mood to talk with the meddlesome captain.

However, Éothain seemed in jolly spirits. "Good morrow, my lady," he greeted her with a smile and a low bow. "You are up quite early this morning."

She inclined her head at the man, willing herself not to show her vexation. "Good morrow, captain," she said. "You, too, are up early. And with quite the assortment of bows." She raised an eyebrow, indicated the mass of weapons on his back.

"Ah, yes," the man smiled. "My lady has been absent at suppertimes. You see, there seems to have been some…" he paused as if searching for the right word, "… friendly competition between the Rohirrim and Gondorian soldiers about which country produces the best bowmen. It culminated in King Elessar agreeing to a small contest."

Lothíriel raised an eyebrow. While tourneys had been quite common when she had been growing up, there had not been an sort of jousting or archery competition in a long while in either Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith. There had been no need. Every able bodied man that could wield a lance or a bow had been needed for true battle.

_Times of peace, indeed_, she thought to herself.

"As captain of the guard, I have been tasked with bringing the bows so that there can be no question of tampering with them, so to speak," he said, now grinning. "It is to commence at noon. Will you come and give your favor?"

The princess hesitated for a moment. One part of her would have liked nothing better than to spend an entire afternoon outside with her friends, but another part of her reminded her that she needed to figure out how to break the news to her father that she wanted to go to Rohan.

She must have hesitated too long, for Éothain's smile faltered. "I hope that my lady is not deterred on my account," he said, his brow furrowing. He paused before continuing. "I must apologize for what occurred during our last meeting."

Lothíriel raised an eyebrow. She had not expected the man to be so forthcoming. "It is quite alright," she said. "Forgive me, for I had already been preoccupied that night."

"Nay, it is I who should apologize," the man said, bowing low. "You see, Éomer and I are good friends, and sometimes I meddle too much in his affairs when I should not. You could also literally say that I was raised in a barn, and my manners are not fit for court life." He gave a small smile at that, as if he had his own internal jest.

Lothíriel had an alarming picture of a small, blonde Rohirrim child running naked with the foals and sleeping in the straw of a dirty barn. She could not help but give a small laugh at that image. If anything, Éothain had known better than anyone else what had been happening between herself and Éomer. "I accept your apology, my lord Éothain," she said with a bow. "Though you judge yourself too harshly. The king of Rohan is fortunate to have a friend such as yourself."

Éothain smiled. "And the people of Dol Amroth are fortunate to have a princess who is not afraid to speak her mind," he added smoothly.

It was not a usual compliment, as Lothíriel was much more used to hearing about her charm or her beauty from the men around her. However, she decided that she rather liked this compliment more, as it commented on her personality rather than her looks. "Thank you. Let us be friends, then?"

The captain offered his hand to shake, and Lothíriel took it. "Friends," he affirmed, his grip strong. "But now that you have professed your friendship, my princess, I must insist that you come to this shooting competition and give me your favor."

He smiled then, and Lothíriel could see how a young a handsome captain like himself probably had sway of many of the ladies in Edoras. He was not used to being denied.

"Very well," she said. "I shall be there. Though first, I must speak with my father this morning about another issue. I will see you there, captain."

Éothain bowed low again as she walked past him through the gates.

* * *

Before she could see her father, she asked her maid to draw her a bath and found herself a change of clothes. She also placed the application for the Houses of Healing on her desk for later.

When this was all done, the sun was already high in the sky. She had miscalculated how much time she had needed to look presentable, but decided that she needed to speak to her father before noon.

She found him in his study, where he was sitting at his desk, a pile of parchment stacked in front of him. He drank deeply from his mug of tea, which he held in his left hand, as a large quill pen was in his right.

Next to him was another man about the same age, standing over him and pointing at another piece of parchment.

Prince Imrahil was not an old man, but Lothíriel could see the steaks of gray that were at his temples and his beard. Though his back was straight, and his steps still quick and deliberate like a man that was much young, the lines around his eyes were beginning to deepen.

"Father?" she gave a soft knock at the door before entering.

Both men looked up at her entrance.

Her father greeted her with a smile. "Lothíriel!" he said. "I have not seen you much of late, my daughter."

The other man looked up, and before he could control his expression, he gave a small frown. Lothíriel felt her stomach do a flip. Of all people to face, standing here with her father was Lord Pelendur, father of Belegorn, who she had very rudely rejected just a few days before.

He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, and his gray hair was strewn about his shoulders. He was wearing a travel-stained cloak, which finally jostled Lothíriel's memory. Pelendur had not been at the feasting the few days prior, as he had been traveling, but she could not remember well.

"Good morrow, Lord Pelendur," she said, as she sank into a curtsy.

No doubt, Belegorn had told his father of her lack of decorum, and she wondered if Lord Pelendur was now telling her father.

"Good morrow, my princess," Pelendur returned, his tone only short of icy because Prince Imrahil was there.

"I have been busy," she said to her father as she walked toward the two.

"You have been too busy in the libraries and the Houses of Healing to join us at supper?" her father chided gently, unaware of the tension that was now in the air. "You must remember that we have guests, and as a host, you are expected to greet them and entertain them."

She smiled. Her father knew her too well. "I will be there tonight," she promised. "And I also promised Captain Éothain that I will be at the archery competition that is being held today at noon."

She gathered from the lack of lecturing that Pelendur had likely not yet told Imrahil about her misdeeds at the feast.

"Ah, yes," Imrahil nodded. "There was something about a competition between the Rohirrim and Gondorian soldiers a few nights back about shooting. Speaking of the Rohirrim, Lord Pelendur has just returned as Gondor's ambassador and advisor in Aldburg. He had heard of King Éomer's intent to come to Minas Tirith, and had hoped to catch him, but was too late. He was just telling me that there has been trouble in the Eastfold."

Lothíriel hesitated.

She desperately wanted to ask her father about going to Rohan with Éomer, but realized that this was not the time. She did not need Pelendur hearing about her plans, or to witness an argument between herself and Imrahil.

"Yes, and the news is quite urgent," Pelendur said, stepping forward, closer to Lothíriel. "I am afraid that we have business to discuss, and it is not appropriate for the ears of womenfolk."

The condescending tone of his voice made the princess bristle. She certainly knew where Belegorn learned his scorn of women.

But, knowing that it was impossible to get this man out of this room, she decided to relent and gave a small bow. "Of course, my lord Pelendur," she said, her voice dripping with saccharine. "I am certain that your news is _much_ too important for women like myself to understand."

She could see a frown beginning to form on her father's face. He knew her too well to fall for her sarcasm, though by Pelendur's satisfied grunt, she knew that she had fooled the other man.

Imrahil, however, turned to face the ambassador. "Pelendur, you may speak freely in front of my daughter. She was, after all, the one who ruled Dol Amroth during the War of the Ring, and continues to be a great help to me in this transition period."

The other man's opened his mouth as if to argue, but quickly shut it, realizing to whom he was speaking. "Of course, my lord," he said, bowing his head once more. "I did not mean to imply that Princess Lothíriel would not understand the matter at hand, only that some of it may shock her."

_Nicely saved,_ she thought, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay.

The lack of sleep was making her even more bold.

"Father, I do wish to speak to you regarding another matter," she said, becoming serious. "Though, it seems that now is not a good time."

Imrahil looked back at her. "I am sorry, Lothíriel," he said. "Any other time, I would put aside the work, but Pelendur, too, is a busy man, and we had agreed to meet at this time."

Lothíriel nodded. "I am sorry to intrude," she said. "Perhaps after supper, then."

Her father smiled at her. "I shall come to your chambers," he said.

She curtsied at both men before turning to go.

However, before she stepped out the door, she could hear both of them shuffling papers and going back to their conversation.

"As I was saying, my lord," she overheard Pelendur say. "The Eastfold has not rebuilt. They have been repeatedly attack by rogue Orc bands."

She unintentionally slowed her footsteps at the news, her hand pausing on the doorknob to the study.

"Much of the lands of Rohan now lay in ruin, and many of its people have fled to the cities, like Aldburg and Edoras. The cities are overrun with poor, who can do nothing but beg in the streets. If my men are correct in their deduction, Edoras has no more reserve to help them. The people of Rohan are starving, and Éomer can do nothing."


	16. Chapter 16

_Hi again! Thank you all for putting up with my very hectic life and horrible posting timeline. I have really thought a lot about this story, and wanted to make sure that I can to you the best version of it possible, so while the story is very much finished in my head, it needs lots of editing and pruning. _

_Please enjoy! Let me know what you think. _

* * *

**Chapter 16**

* * *

Lothíriel could feel her heart racing as she stepped away from the study. It was almost noon, and she should be heading to the tourney grounds, but she could not shake what Lord Pelendur had just said.

"The people of Rohan are starving, and Éomer can do nothing."

Her feet were moving of their own accord as she wrung her hands together. _He is lying_, she thought. _He has heard news of Éomer from his son and wants to sow seeds of discord. _But how could he make up such a lie? There had to be a grain of truth to it; even Pelendur would not be so bold as to make up something out of nothing in front of the Prince of Dol Amroth.

She was almost out of the seventh pinnacle now, the world moving as if a blur around her. Could it be true? Could the people of Rohan be starving?

And if they were, what was their king doing here, in Minas Tirith, about to allow his soldiers to participate in a tourney, of all things? He had said he wanted to re-establish trade routes with Gondor, but how could he possibly be away from his people in their time of need?

And he had flirted with her!

Had Dol Amroth ever come close to starving, Lothíriel could hardly imagine herself traveling to a different realm, idling her time away.

Her mind flitted to a small detail.

She had not known much about the War of the Ring other than what was happening in Gondor, for she had not always been privy to her father's dealings with the outside world, but she did remember some things.

Early in the war, news had come that Théoden's only son, Théodred, had been killed in battle. He had been Théoden's heir. Éomer was next in line for the throne. Could it be that he had never been taught to rule? Was he completely lost as a leader?

She shut that thought from her mind.

No. Éomer had said that the Rohirrim were only staying a fortnight before going back to Rohan. _My country needs me_, he had said. Then, perhaps, he really was just here to establish trade routes to help Rohan.

_But why did he not tell me_?

She banished that thought as well. _Stupid girl,_ she admonished herself. _Why would he tell you such a thing? You have barely known him for a week! _And yet, he had asked her to go to Rohan with him.

She sighed.

It would take a miracle for her father to say yes.

But really, with her brothers back, did he still need her?

Before she could think more on that topic, she realized that she was nearing the tourney grounds. She could hear the chatter and smell the roasted meats from the stalls the merchants had set up. The tourney grounds were open to the public, and while she was not sure when the word had spread about the archery competition, she could see that the stands were beginning to fill.

The commoner entrance, just twenty or so feet from where she stood, housed a long line, many of the people having taken the day off to see the competition.

Lothíriel could understand why.

Since the War of the Ring, there had not been many tourneys—who needed to play at war when there was a real one going on? This archery competition was a sign that things were going back to normal, and the people were relieved.

The flags above the shaded seats mean for the royal families fluttered in the breeze. Blue and white, with the White Tree for Gondor, and green with a white horse for Rohan. Next to those, much smaller, was the flag of Dol Amroth: pale blue with ship that had a swan at its bow.

Lothíriel turned toward the left, making her way to the nobility entrances. There, it smelled less of horse, and the line was much shorter.

A guard stood at the entrance and merely nodded at each nobleman or woman who passed. Lothíriel quickly entered and found her family's section, directly to the right of the King's section. To her delight, Arwen and Éowyn were already there. Their handmaidens were not far away, but as they did not need to immediately attend to their mistresses, had gathered as a small gaggle in a corner closest to the front of the section, whispering behind their open palms.

As soon as she entered, they stood quickly and curtsied briefly before going back to their conversation, giggling as if something very funny had just happened.

She decided to ignore them. "This must be quite the competition for the Queen of Gondor to be here!" she said with a smile before embracing her friends.

Éowyn beamed back at her. "Well, had you not been such a hermit in the last week, you would have known how big of an event this is. As soon as it was decided, there have been postings all around the city. Half of Minas Tirith must be coming!"

The princess raised an eyebrow. "And what was it decided?" She knew she had shut herself away for the last few days, but it was unlike her to not hear something even from the servants.

As she moved to sit with them, Arwen stated, "Well, the soldiers probably wanted to compete as soon as the Rohirrim arrived, but it was probably officially approved by Aragorn five days ago."

Lothíriel blew out her breath as Éowyn smirked at her. "Exactly the time you decided you no longer wanted to be a princess, but instead w anted the life a healer. Oh, and had all those run-ins with my brother." Her smile broadened at the scowl on Lothíriel's face, and the princess suddenly realized how much the two siblings looked alike.

"Ah yes, I believe King Éomer is going to be part of the competition," Arwen said. Her tone was bland, and she smiled serenely, her raven hair offset by her red dress. "Will you give him your favor?"

The princess made a face before waving her hands briefly to indicate that they should lower their voice. The handmaidens in the corner seemed to all of a sudden have taken an interest in their conversation.

The last thing she needed was the rumor that the King of Rohan was courting her. "Oh, stop teasing, you two," she said with a frown. "I intend to just enjoy the competition just like anyone else. Why are women always bothering with favors?" She turned her gaze to the grounds beneath them , where the men were beginning to gather. Tourneys, of all things, was somewhat equalizing, provided that you knew how to do whatever it was that the men were competing for.

While jousting was mostly a noble sport because only those with titles of knight or better could afford all the equipment, archery was a different story. Any neighborhood hunter could join the competition provided that hey passed the initial tests. Amrothos had at one time described all the different targets and skills one had to demonstrate in order to join, but Lothíriel had long since forgotten them.

It was why, now, on the grounds were both commoners and nobility, each lined up and testing their bows. Many were dark-headed, of Gondor, but there was a small contingency of Rohirrim, huddled together and speaking in their own tongue. Lothíriel could see no sign of Éomer or Éothain.

Almost as if on cue, Éowyn stood and leaned against the wooden beam before them and gazed over the railing. "Looking for Éomer?" she asked. She laughed again at the other woman's expression, knowing that she had caught her.

Arwen, too, came to join Éowyn near the railing. The entire section was still empty other than their handmaidens, and Lothíriel wondered if it was because her brothers were either too busy to attend or competing themselves.

"Come, Lothíriel, I feel as though I have been left out," the queen said. Her voice was low, however, so as not to let the other women in their section hear. Lothíriel appreciated her tact. "What has transpired between you and the King of Rohan in the last two days? Éowyn seems to think that something has happened, but will not tell me what."

Lothíriel opened her mouth to retort, but Arwen held up a finger. "Do not lie!" she warned. "Come, are we friends or no?"

The princess sighed and shut her mouth again. The queen had done her a great favor by writing her a letter of recommendation to the Houses of. Healing, and it was not one she could readily forget.

She looked at the ground for a moment before looking back out at the competition. "We are friends," she said. She looked back at Arwen. "Éomer asked me to return to Rohan with him when he leaves."

Éowyn gasped audibly, and Arwen merely looked at her.

Lothíriel immediately hushed them once more, as the handmaidens seemed to be looking over once more.

It was a few moments before the queen asked. "And what did you say?"

The princess gave her a grin. "I said of course, I would be happy to be Queen of Rohan."

She could not help but laugh at the shocked looks on her friends' faces.

"I said no such thing," she relented finally, giving both of them a droll look. "I told him I would ask my father."

Éowyn, however, touched her arm. "But he asked you to go to Edoras?"

The other woman nodded. Éowyn gave her a small smile, this time genuine. "Do you want to go?"

It was the question that she had been asking herself all morning. "I… I do not know," she answered truthfully. "I will have to leave Gondor and my family, but it is also such an opportunity to learn medicine in Edoras—"

The Rohir made a tsking sound, interrupting her.

"You know my brother is _not_ asking you to go to Rohan just to learn medicine," she said, her tone exasperated. "Come now, Lothi, tell me you at least know that much."

Lothíriel felt her cheeks grow hot. Of course it was not. It was stupid to keep pretending that that was the reason why. She turned away from the wooden rail to face her friends. "I know," she said finally.

Éowyn gesticulated frantically with her friends, urging her to continue. "And…?"

Arwen was smiling once again.

"He likes me," the princess finally admitted softly. She realized that she was fidgeting, her hands making small wrinkles in her dress, so she clenched her fists. Her palms were sweaty.

The Rohir sighed again. "Lothi, Éomer _likes_ the color. Green. He _likes_ getting up late in the morning. When he asks a princess to uproot her life and move to his country, I think he more than just _likes_ her, don't you think?"

The elf held out one hand to let the woman know that she was going too far. Her expression, as always, was tranquil. "Lothíriel, how. Do you feel about him?"

The princess was sure her cheeks could not get any redder. Why was it that she could never hold back anything from her friends? The thought of Éomer and their kiss that night brought shivers down her spine. She had not let it get any further, but it was not that she did not want it.

"I…" she opened her mouth but noticed that Éowyn and Arwen had both shifted their gaze to something behind her. The handmaidens, in their corner, had uniformly stood and gasped, shuffling to stand straighter. Hands came out to straight necklaces and necklines. Waistlines were adjusted before they all curtsied low.

Before she could turn, a familiar voice sounded behind her. "My lady Lothíriel, would you be so kind as to give me your favor for this competition?"


	17. Chapter 17

_Yay for quick updates! Here is the next chapter of this story! :) _

* * *

**Chapter 17 **

* * *

Lothíriel did not remember turning, but suddenly, she was looking down into Éomer's eyes. _It is unfair how handsome he is_, she found herself thinking.

"Good morning, brother!" Éowyn greeted him from her right. I know you are smitten by our lovely princess, but you should still remember your manners and greet the rest of us."

Lothíriel thought she could see a shade of pink come over the man's cheeks, but he quickly bowed low. "Good morrow, my queen," he addressed Arwen before turning to his sister. "I would have gotten to you in time, Éowyn." He had a small smile playing on his lips. "Had you given me a chance. But from my vantage point, I could not see the Queen, how is seated, and as you are still early in your pregnancy, you were quite hidden by that wooden beam."

The princess saw Éowyn roll her eyes, before she looked back at Éomer, whose golden hair was tied back, away from his face. He was wearing the white horse on his green tunic, and on his arms were bracers. He was holding a well-polished. Long bow in his right hand, and on his back was a small quiver.

"I did not realize you would be competing, my lord Éomer," Arwen said, smoothly transitioning the conversation back from sibling squabbling to polite society.

He two Rohirrim seemed to remember where they were, and the king turned to her, still smiling. "Truthfully, I had not planned on it, but I was…" he paused as if searching for the right word. "Persuaded." Lothíriel thought back to what Éothain had said to her at the gates and hid her own smile. There was likely an interesting story there.

"Well, I am loking forward to your performance, as I am sure are the Lady Éowyn and the Lady Lothíriel," the queen replied. She turned to Lothíriel then, and the princess swore she could see her eyes glitter. "Ah yes, your favor, Lothíriel?"

The princess could feel the eyes from the crowd on her.

The others in the grounds could not hear them, but they could clearly see their movements. If anything, this was the most public endorsement Arwen could currently give their relationship. She turned once more to Éomer, who was gazing up at her once again.

"Of course," Lothíriel replied. The word would get to her father, she knew, but deep down, she could feel she was making the right decision. Her heart pounding, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief before reaching down and tying it to Éomer's bow. "Good luck, my lord," she said, smiling.

* * *

The next hour brought round after round of archers, aiming at targets. Those that fell short were eliminated, and those that succeeded proceed to the next round. King Elessar and his servants soon joined them, and Faramir and even Prince Imrahil joined in the next hour.

Elphir, too, came to sit with them a bit later.

"Are the archers any good?" he asked as she sat next to his sister and father. Lothíriel rarely saw her eldest brother nowadays, for he was more than ten years her senior and was usually engaged in any business that her father could not attend. He was to be the next Prince of Dol Amroth, after all, and he took his role a little too seriously.

It was why she gave him a bright smile when he sat. It was good to see him doing something just for fun. "Some," she answered. "Amrothos and Erchirion have just advanced to the next round." She gestured at the scoreboard on the far side of the grounds. Many had already been eliminated now that they were three rounds in, but even so, the names and insignias were too far and crowded to make out clearly.

Elphir raised an eyebrow. "Erchirion, I understand. Amrothos can barely hit a stone pigeon. How has he advanced?"

Lothíriel shrugged. "Perhaps he. Heard you disparaging his archery skills and started practicing."

Her brother scoffed. "Please, dear sister. You know exactly how much Amrothos cares about any of our opinions. Had he listened to me, he would have been a lot better during the war."

She rolled her eyes at that. Elphir and Amrothos did not always get along, and it was often up to Erchirion and herself to mediate between them. Their personalities were simply too different for them to truly ever see eye to eye. While Elphir was one to meticulously plan everything down to the last detail of his own wedding, Amrothos was one to take things as they came. Lothíriel would be surprised if Amrothos knew anything about his schedule for the next day, while Erchirion kept a detailed diary.

"It is good to finally see you have some free time," she said, changing the subject. "Both of you." She looked at her father, who nodded.

"Well, I was told we needed to come to show our faces," her brother said evenly. "It is good for the common people to see us. It builds trust."

Lothíriel could not help but make a face. Of course, with Elphir, everything was politics.

Unfortunately, her father caught her. "He speaks the truth," he said, turning to her. "We must work for the people, but they cannot see what we do behind closed doors. We must be here to show them that while we are there for them during times of war, we must also be here to celebrate with them in times of peace."

She was silent for a moment. While they were all in close quarters, Arwen and Aragorn were speaking with their heads close, and Éowyn and Faramir had sat themselves in a corner, likely enjoying the moment together.

"Where is Lord Belegorn?" Elphir suddenly asked, peering about the seating area. "Has he not come to see you, Lothíriel?"

The princess could barely hold back the impatient noise that was in the back of her throat. "No, he has not, and if he never comes to see me again, I shall consider myself fortunate."

She saw her brother raise his eyebrow again. "I thought you liked him. "

She turned then, her arms crossed. "No, you and Father liked him," she retorted. "Around me, he behaves like a child who cannot wait to get his hands on his favorite toy. And I do not care much for what he thinks of women."

There was a moment of a silence after she spoke.

She knew that only a week ago, she would never have spoken her mind in such a way, and her family was likely shocked by her outburst.

Finally, Elphir ventured a line. "Lothi, you cannot just keep turning down men that Father and I find for you. You are almost twenty-two. You must marry."

The woman pursed her lips, but before she could come back with a reply, Imrahil said, "Leave her be, Elphir. After all, if she is to marry, she will have to get along with the man." She turned to her father, surprised at what he was saying. "Though, Lothíriel, I would appreciate more tact the next time you decide to turn down a man of such standing. I got an earful this afternoon from Lord Pelendur."

She swallowed hard. So Lord Pelendur had indeed told her father of the turn of events. "Yes, Father. I will remember that."

He nodded once. "No harm was done," he said gently. "But you would do well to remember your actions and words have consequences." Lothíriel nodded and looked down at her hands.

_Well, you deserved that_, she thought. While she did not regret turning down Belegorn, she probably should not have likened him to a sack of suet. But considering the rage that Lord Pelendur probably had unleashed on her father after her deeds, she was getting off rather lightly.

"Ah, it seems the King of Rohan is about to shoot," Imrahil said.

Lothíriel raised her head to watch. Éomer had stepped up to the line with the rest of those in his cohort and had raised his bow. Though he stood in the middle of many men, she could clearly see his straight back, his strong shoulders, and his perfect form. With the sound of the horn, the archers let their arrows fly. They met their targets with a satisfying thunk, and she joined the rest of the stands in their applause.

Though there was a great distance between them, Lothíriel thought Éomer turned and looked at her. She could see her handkerchief floating in the breeze, still tied to his bow.

The judges then stepped forward to observe the targets. Certain targets were removed, as they had not been hit, or the arrow was too far off the mark. Finally, only ten were deemed worthy to advance to the next round.

As one of the judges stepped forward to announce those that could move forward, Elphir spoke again. "It appears some lady has given her favor to the King of Rohan," he said. "Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Amrothos or Erchirion." He gave his father a meaningful look.

Lothíriel's heart leaped uncomfortably when he mentioned Éomer, but she realized, suddenly, that he was merely comparing him to her brothers.

"Is marriage all you can think about?" she asked. She was becoming annoyed that Elphir seemed to be doing anything but enjoying the moment.

He shrugged again. "My dear Lothíriel, how do you think Dol Amroth has built its prestige and wealth over the years except by the work of people like Father and our strategic marriages? What better way to build alliances and strengthen our economy?"

She made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. "For once, Elphir, can you just be happy with what is happening before you and not be planning?" she asked. "I am sure both Amrothos and Erchirion are working as diligently as I am on finding their future spouses."

That made her brother finally crack a smile. "Is that sarcasm I hear from you, dear sister?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I am being perfectly sincere, of course," she said, turning her face back toward the competition before them.


End file.
